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annafugazziPairing(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.
Also: Hey,miss_bowtruckle! It's your birthday! So I will pretend that I knew that all along, and finished editing this chapter for today on purpose, and that your birthday present is... probably the most depressing chapter in the entire story, and possibly one of the most depressing chapters I've ever written :/
::ahem::
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
January
"See you tomorrow," said Ron.
"Yeah, see you," said George, not looking up from the stacks of Knicker Knockers he was counting. "Have fun on your date."
"Yeah, and you have fun at the concert." Ron hung his uniform up and put his wand in his pocket. "Did you let Mum know you were going?"
"No, why?"
"She'd be glad to hear you're going out. She's been worried about you."
George shrugged. "What else is new?"
"Though not so much, now Christmas is over. What a fucking nightmare, for everyone."
"Should be better next year," said George absently, recording the number of Knicker Knockers and moving on to the Soylent Greenbeans. "At least that's what the Healer said."
"He's probably right. You've been in a better mood, anyway," he said. George gave him a small smile but didn't stop counting. "Anyway, say hi to Lee."
"Lee? Oh, tonight - yeah, no, he's not going. Got sick."
Ron stopped. "Oh."
"Yeah, rotten luck. He's the one who actually liked the Bleating Banshees in the first place. Plus he wanted to visit that new curry place before the concert."
"You're going by yourself?"
George nodded.
"I could... if you want, I can--"
George glanced up at him, a small smile quirking his mouth. "Thanks, but I'm not keen on Hermione serving up my bollocks to me if I let you. She's been looking forward to this how long?"
Ron made a dismissive gesture. "If it's for you, she--"
"Ron. Go see your girlfriend."
"I don't have to--"
"To be honest, I wasn't that upset when Lee cancelled on me; I've had a splitting headache all day and there's still inventory to be done before I go, and I didn't particularly feel like making conversation." He finished with the Soylent Greenbeans and moved on to the Gargoyle Gaggers. "Now, go see that girlfriend of yours and tomorrow I'll tell you all about the Banshees, and you can tell me all about how far she let you get under her skirt."
Ron laughed. "Speaking of Hermione serving up anyone's bollocks..."
George chuckled. "Coward. Go have fun. You've earned it. You've gone above and beyond your brotherly duty, as usual. Thanks."
Ron's eyebrows went up. "Thanks. See you tomorrow."
"Don't forget to lock up the front."
Ron nodded, and stepped out. He waved his wand at the door, and did up his cloak. Let's see, he had his wand, he had Hermione's gift, he had money... he started to walk down to the Apparition point, allowing himself to think of Hermione and their date. It had been wonderful seeing her over the hols, but this long-distance thing was getting old. Especially as the hols hadn't exactly been filled with cheer, considering Mum and George and Ginny and - well, all of them, really, struggling through it.
Things were better, now. It seemed they had found some kind of peace in the last few weeks. Mum wasn't so clingy, George wasn't so broody and angry. He wasn't as he had been - God knew he probably never would be - but he seemed to have his sense of humour back. And Ron was certainly feeling a hell of a lot better.
How much of it all had to do with getting out of Auror training, though? No longer being pulled in fifty different directions, but able to devote himself to the shop and George, and to Hermione, and to his own need to heal? And he was keeping up with the Aurors, studying at night, without the grueling pace of active training.
'Need to heal', and studying voluntarily. The hell. He was starting to sound like Hermione.
He stopped, and groaned. Study. He'd forgotten his bloody Surveillance textbook. He stood in the snow for a moment, annoyed at himself, trying to decide whether to return and pick it up or not. On the one hand, he didn't want to be late for Hermione, but on the other hand...
No, it was for studying. She would understand. He sighed, and started back towards the shop.
He swore as he reached it and found it dark - George had apparently finished inventory and gone off to dinner already. Ron took out his wand and undid the wards, trying to remember where he'd left the text. Maybe in the lab?
He made his way downstairs, puzzled to find the lab door slightly open, light spilling out from inside, and peered in. A cauldron was bubbling away in the corner, and Ron felt a stab of annoyance. Bugger all this for a lark, no matter how harmless a potion seemed, really, brewing when you were alone was just plain stupid, and especially if you were supposed to be heading out for a concert--
George lay crumpled on the floor next to the cauldron, a stirring spoon on the floor beside him.
Ron's heart gave a sharp stab and he rushed to George's side and dropped to his knees.
Oh God. Oh God oh fuck oh God, he touched George's throat and mouth - fuck, not breathing, though he at least had a pulse. Time slowed down as Ron's instinct and training kicked in. Bezoar. In pocket, always, at Wheezes, and he opened George's mouth and slipped it in, dimly he was aware that he should probably be relieved, but felt nothing but a cold logical Yes as George shuddered and heaved a breath.
Good. Now he had a bit of time. A bezoar would counteract the immediate deadly effects of a bad potion or poison, but as Ron's own stay in the infirmary in sixth year had shown, it usually wasn't enough to totally negate the damage. So the next questions to answer were: what the hell had George been working with, and how was Ron going to get him to St. Mungo's. The Personal Test wards they'd put up should've alerted St. Mungo's after a minute of George not saying the counter-spell - he checked the Ward Board and felt fleeting impatience at George, it wasn't a two-minute Personal Test Alarm but a fifteen-minute Object Test Alarm, he was really going to kill George and put his foot down about brewing alone, period.
All right, that meant he only had at most fifteen minutes before St. Mungo's was alerted anyway.
He took his DA Galleon and spoke a spell to let Hermione know where he was, and that he needed her here immediately. He turned back to George, making sure he was still breathing and noting his signals just like Auror training had taught him to. Breath slow and uneven, pale, skin dry, tremors shaking him, heartbeat unsteady--
Dimly he heard Hermione calling out to him in the shop.
"In the lab!" he called back, and moved George onto his back, putting his head to George's chest and listening for a moment. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, heartbeat gone and all right, what was it his instructors had told him about Muggle resuscitation techniques when there might be poisons or charms that might interfere with magical resuscitation...
The door opened. "What the--"
"He's poisoned, I don't know with what," said Ron, getting into position straddling George and starting chest compressions, one-two-three-four-five-six - "I've lost his pulse and he isn't breathing, but the poison itself is out of his system." He reached thirty compressions, moved beside George, tilted his head back, pinched his nose and breathed into his mouth. "I'm doing AR and can't Apparate us out." He breathed again. "We're also going to need to bring along whatever he took. I think it's in that cauldron."
"Right," said Hermione crisply, and if Ron could've taken the time, he would've cheered as she went into Competent Mode, but he was busy pushing against George's chest, willing his heart to start beating again, willing his lungs to fill without Ron's help. "I'll deal with his wards and take a sample from the cauldron."
Ron nodded, breathing into George's mouth again, then compressing his chest. "The wards will lower when St. Mungo's is called anyway, but I don't want to wait that long." George's skin was still warm, although the pallor of his face brought back a horrible flashback to Fred's corpse. He averted his eyes from George's closed eyes, with his body jerking slightly in time to Ron's compressions.
"D'you know what's in the cauldron?" said Hermione. "And why can't you do an Ennervating spell or something for his heart?"
Ron looked up between compressions, and Merlin, George wasn't moving, his body lying limp. "Can't, not unless I know what poisoned him. What colour is it?" He knelt down, breathed into George's mouth again and noted a Banshees concert ticket sticking out of his shirt pocket, small curry stain on his collar.
"Light blue, opaque, about five cups worth, smells like--"
"Lemon, right, that's Chameleon Chaser potion, half-batch." Ron started compressions again, trying to remember all the ingredients. Damn, it had jonquils, which would react with Ennervate, just his luck, and he spotted a piece of paper next to George's hand. A napkin from Pandoora's Kitchen, curry sauce on the corner of the napkin, hellebore x 2? scrawled and scratched out in George's messy hand, followed by hellebore x 3? The floor needed sweeping, too. Ron blanked his mind of irrelevant thoughts; funny the things that went through your mind while you desperately tried to revive your incompetent irresponsible arse of an older brother, who was evidently far more concerned with making a potent Chameleon Chaser than making sure he didn't, you know, die.
The seconds seemed interminable as Ron pushed and breathed, and Hermione dealt with the wards, muttering to herself. Finally she gave a satisfied cry. "They're down," she said.
George suddenly coughed and breathed in.
"Good," said Ron. "Let's go." He glanced at his watch and frowned. Sixteen minutes since he'd arrived; the wards should've dinged St. Mungo's by now. He glanced at the small timer clock next to the Ward Board, set to twelve-thirty. He lifted George into his arms, shifting to support his neck as his head fell limply back, and rose to his feet. Hermione grabbed the cauldron, ingredients and napkin, and they Apparated directly into St. Mungo's.
Immediately staff surrounded them, taking George and laying him onto a stretcher, babbling questions at Ron and Hermione.
"We've got the potion recipe and some of the ingredients," said Hermione, and the St. Mungo's Potions specialist whisked them from her with a thankful smile.
"Ron?" Ron turned from George's still form to see Harry running into the hospital emergency room. "Are you all right?"
"What?"
"My Galleon just gave me your message to Hermione," he said. "I got to Wheezes just in time to hear you pop out. Guessed you might be here."
"George had an accident at the shop lab," said Hermione. "Ron found him and we brought him here."
Harry frowned, looking over to where George was being worked on by staff. "He was alone in the lab? Testing?"
Hermione shook her head quickly. "Oh, no no - he was brewing. Just an accident. He was making a batch of Chameleon Chaser." She turned to Ron. "Didn't you tell me you were having a bit of trouble with that?"
"Yeah, the colours weren't bright enough," said Ron, his voice sounding hollow to his ears. "We'd talked about making it more potent."
"That's what he'd written on the napkin, then. He put in more hellebore."
"Three times as much as the regular recipe," said Ron.
"That shouldn't have been lethal."
"Only he was making a half-batch and didn't figure that in, so three times as much turned into six times."
Hermione clapped a hand to her forehead. "And then he used the wrong Alarm spell. What a cock-up. It's a good thing you showed up; it might've been too late by the time the wards dinged St. Mungo's. Bloody hell, maybe he'll finally stop brewing alone after this, no matter what wards you have, it's not safe to--"
"It wasn't a cock-up," Ron broke in. "It was a suicide attempt."
Hermione and Harry turned to him in shock. "What?!"
"He misbrewed it deliberately," said Ron.
"But - he didn't mean to--"
"It was supposed to look like an accident," said Ron, his hands starting to shake. "He had a napkin from Pandoora's and a ticket to the Banshees, but there wasn't time for him to have eaten yet and the Banshees concert hasn't even started yet. His breath didn't smell of curry either. After we found his body, the napkin and ticket stub were supposed to make it look like he'd gone to supper, then the concert, come home, then misbrewed."
"But--"
Ron felt his legs trembling and put a hand on the wall waiting room wall. No, he couldn't lose it. Not yet. "The Alarm ward wasn't just wrong; it wasn't even cast yet," he said, and swallowed. "The timer clock next to it was set to twelve-thirty. It was supposed to activate at twelve-thirty, give him fifteen minutes, then ding St. Mungo's. They were supposed to get there and find him dead already, and it was all supposed to be an unfortunate accident. Bastard. If they manage to save his life, I'm going to kill him."
Harry and Hermione stood gaping at him, then turned to George. Ron's breath was coming more quickly now, his entire body shaking with the aftereffects, now that George was somebody else's responsibility.
Suicide. George had tried to off himself. What they'd all feared, ever since Fred's death, had almost happened.
Hermione took him by the hand and led him to the nearest bench. "Ron, you need to call your family."
Ron shook his head. "No."
"You can't keep this to yourself."
"I can't. It'll kill them. Besides, he didn't want us to know, and none of us would've known, if..." He pushed his hair back, noting his hand was shaking rather badly. He took a breath. "Percy. He'll know what to do. That's who George called back in September."
"He also had Lee with him when he checked in."
"Lee's sick." Ron paused and shook his head. "No, he's probably not. George probably slipped him something so he'd miss the concert tonight. So George could do... this."
"All right, Ron, I'm going to call Percy," said Hermione. "Ron?" He looked up. "I'm going to call Percy. I'll be back. Harry?"
Harry started and moved to Ron's side, sinking down to the bench beside him. Ron stared blankly at the mediwizards as they roughly pushed back George's hair and made weird wand movements that drew lighted symbols over his temples, the base of his throat, the middle of his chest, his wrists, and his closed eyes.
It seemed like only moments until Ron heard the door open. He looked up at Percy, wearing a casual shirt, no tie, and had a flashback. Telling on Fred and George to their older brother, and feeling like a sneak, knowing that Percy would make sure they got in the proper amount of trouble for whatever they'd done.
"What's happened?" asked Percy. He glanced at George and the mediwizards, and blanched. "Hermione's been giving me some of the details. Misbrewed potion? And you don't think it was an accident?"
"It was supposed to look like an accident. He bloody well tried to kill himself." Ron stared at Percy, anger beginning to bubble up past the numbness and fear of the last hour. After everything they'd done for George, everything Ron had done for him, given up on the Aurors, worked day and night at the bloody shop, worried about him, visited him in the hospital, worked with family and friends looking after him, tried so fucking hard to help him - though both twins had been the bane of Ron's existence through their childhoods, and George still was - Ron was tempted to tell the mediwizards to step back and let him fucking well die, if that's what he really wanted. It was like every flashback to Fred and George was bubbling up, and once again Ron was running to Percy and crying to him while Fred and George laughed at him, using his Puffskein as a Bludger, turning his teddy bear into a spider and his hair into feathers, not caring at all how much they hurt him - and he glared at George, still and pale as the mediwizards worked on him. Lying there silently just like Fred, ripping their hearts out all over again, just like Fred, except Fred hadn't done it deliberately, Fred would've fought like hell to keep living if he'd only had a chance. Fred hadn't meant to hurt any of them, but George hadn't given a shit. Looking exactly like Fred, only Fred had died a hero and George would've died a bloody coward, taking the easy way out, as if he was the only one who cared that Fred was gone, as if the rest of them hadn't gone through hell too, as if the rest of them could stand to bury another brother, another son, less than a year after the first one, and bloody hell they were in no way alike.
Vaguely he could feel Hermione put a hand on his arm, but he shook her off impatiently, speaking to Percy. "He was just going to die, in the testing room, and we were going to find him and think it was a fucking accident instead of, of--" he was so angry he couldn't speak. An accident. If Ron hadn't been an idiot and left behind his book, he would've walked in to work tomorrow only to find another dead brother.
Actually, no, he wouldn't have; the wards would've dinged to St. Mungo's and some emergency crew would've gone in, and by the time Ron showed up the next day it would've been all over and a St. Mungo's Healer would've called Mum and Dad to tell them that they were down to five kids now. And the ticket stub in George's pocket, and the dinner plans he'd talked about, would've made it seem like it was just an unfortunate accident...
They would've thought it was an accident. They never would have known that George was so fucking miserable he'd chosen to end his own life rather than keep struggling to find meaning in it.
None of them would've known.
They never would have known just how desperate he was. They wouldn't have known that he'd had to plan to make it look like it was just an unfortunate accident, so that none of his family would find his dead body, none of them would know that they'd failed him. George would have lived his last moments completely alone, with nobody to know how much he hurt, nobody to try to ease his pain, no goodbyes, nobody to hold him, try to breathe life back into his body.
Not like Fred, who'd died among brothers and friends, full of fierce joy to his very last breath. Nothing like Fred at all.
Ron blinked, only realizing his eyes had filled with tears from the sudden coolness on his cheeks as they spilled over. He turned back to the mediwizards working over George, who lay still and pale and unresponsive, his fingers potion-stained, their nails bitten down to the quick. His frame too slender, full of the small scars of the last several years as a prankster and the last months pushing himself every single day just to get through the day at all.
"Oh my God, George," Ron whispered, and his voice broke.
Percy sat down next to him and pulled Ron into his arms, and Ron was forcibly reminded of stumbling to Fred's side during the break in the battle at the school, the entire family gathered around his dead body, George sitting hollow-eyed at his head, and Percy clinging to Ron for comfort for once.
He lay his head on Percy's shoulder and let the tears come.
"We failed him." He couldn't stop seeing George in his mind's eye, taking the potion alone, lying down to die alone, as he had never been since before he and Fred had breathed their first breaths. As he had been since the moment Fred breathed his last.
Percy shook his head, his voice tight. "We didn't. We tried. He tried. It just wasn't enough."
"I should have known. I work with him. I thought he was better--"
Percy cleared his throat. "I thought so too. He seemed better. The last few weeks..."
George had seemed better. He'd seemed calmer. He'd smiled at all the right times, joked with customers, cleaned and organized the shop with calm efficiency, and the weight that had seemed to press down on him for months had seemed to lift.
Ron buried his head on Percy's shoulder, sobs racking him, and felt Percy break down as well.
"God, we've all tried so bloody hard," Percy said brokenly. "We just can't. We can't help him."
And they couldn't. All of George's brothers and his sister, and his parents, and Harry and Hermione and Lee as well, were simply not enough. They couldn't replace the half of George that was gone forever. He could hear Harry and Hermione's grief as well, all of them frustrated and angry and scared, and sobbing in a huddled group together because there was nothing else to be done.
All right, he needed to get a grip and bring himself back under control. He shuddered and took a deep breath, raising his head from Percy's shoulder. "Merlin, look at all of us," he said, wiping his eyes. "Fred would be laughing at us right now."
Percy shook his head. "Can you imagine Fred laughing while George was in pain?" he asked. "I missed the chance to get to know Fred as an adult. But I can't see him doing anything other than crying harder than any of us right now."
Ron nodded. And he could almost feel Fred's presence among them, feel his pain and fear, feel him almost as though he could touch him. Could almost see him standing over George, as the mediwizards continued to work on him, their wands making odd patterns of light over him. One of the mediwitches moved away from George and approached them.
"How is he?" Hermione asked her.
"He's fighting," said the mediwitch. "He's very strong."
"That's... that's good, isn't it?"
"No, he's not fighting to live," said the mediwitch. "He's fighting against us." Ron wiped his cheeks, and the mediwitch pulled up a chair in front of him and Percy. "He will be all right. Physically. You got the poison out of his system, and there's three of us and only one of him. He'll remain unconscious for a long time, but he's no longer in any danger of death or permanent damage. You saved your brother's life."
Somehow that didn't seem comforting at all.
"He seemed better," said Percy, his voice soft. "Ever since after Christmas."
"Maybe he was better because he'd figured out what he was going to do," said the mediwitch quietly. "Sometimes when people have worked out a plan, they feel better. They feel as though whatever pain they're in is going to have an ending, and it makes it easier for them to cope with it." She cleared her throat. "He will have to be admitted to the Mental Maladies ward, though," she said. "I believe he was here a few months ago?"
"Yeah. Checked himself in voluntarily," said Ron.
"He won't have a choice this time," the mediwitch said. "And he probably won't be terribly pleased when he wakes up."
Ron shook his head. "No, I suppose not."
"He'll be all right," said the mediwitch. "He's breathing on his own now, and we've got him stabilized. We're going to move him to the ward. Could you stay and complete some paperwork for us?"
Ron gazed at George, who looked pale but peaceful. He stood and moved to George's side and touched his arm, then dropped his hand as the orderlies wheeled him away.
"It would also be good to decide now who will be with him when he awakens," said the mediwitch. "We should also discuss his condition with a few more family members."
Ron and Percy exchanged a look. "I'll do the paperwork," murmured Percy. "You think about what we're going to tell people for now. Then we'll talk to George after he wakes up, see what he wants."
Ron nodded, and the door burst open. "What happened?" Ginny asked, running in, panic-stricken, a nauseated-looking Lee right behind her. "Is George all right?"
Oh shit. "He's fine," Ron said hastily. "What happened? Why are you here?" And bugger it all, this was not on; he and Percy hadn't had a chance to decide what to tell the rest of the family--
"I went home and I looked at the clock - George's hand pointed to Mortal Danger for a bit, then back to Lost. I've been going frantic trying to find him. Went to Lee's and his location spell said George was here."
"You have a spell that checks on George's whereabouts?"
"Yeah," said Lee defensively. "Look, I've been worried about him, all right? It's not... stalking or anything. He won't let us worry too much."
"He had an accident," Percy stepped in smoothly. "With a product he was brewing. He's all right."
"Why the hell didn't you tell anybody?" asked Ginny.
"Didn't want to worry everyone, it wasn't that serious--"
"Not that serious?" Lee repeated. "Mortal Danger and taken to St. Mungo's isn't that serious?"
"You're shaking," Ginny said to Ron, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.
"Nothing, just, you know, pissed at him," Ron said, deciding to follow Percy's lead. "He was fine. We didn't call you because he was fine."
"What the hell aren't you telling us?" She looked at all four of them, and all of them projected blankness back. "Harry," she said, her voice low. "You promised. No more secrets."
Harry swallowed but shook his head. "Gin, there was no need to worry anybody. He made a mistake, that's all."
"Gonna kill him when he wakes up, though," Ron said, striving for an annoyed tone. "He knows better. Maybe this'll teach him to finally listen to us when we tell him not to brew alone."
Percy gave a short laugh. "Fat chance. I think we'll have to set wards so you actually can't do anything alone in the lab."
Ron nodded. "Yeah. Bill can help. And if George doesn't like it, he can fuck himself. I'm not doing this again."
Hermione nodded, patting his arm, and squeezed his hand.
Lee stared at all of them, then at Ginny. "Good luck trying to convince him," he said, his voice carefully neutral.
"He won't have a choice," Ron said grimly. "I'll quit if he doesn't agree to it."
Ginny's suspicious glare hadn't abated one bit. Her eyes narrowed again and she stepped closer to Ron. "You've been crying," she said evenly.
Ron felt himself flushing. "Erm, well it was upsetting. It could've been quite serious. We were worried--"
"You just said you didn't contact anybody else because you didn't want to worry us," Lee said flatly. "Because it wasn't that serious."
"There wasn't any point, he was--"
"You're lying," Ginny said angrily. "All of you. What really happened?"
"He tried to off himself, did he?" Lee said, his voice still flat, and the utter stillness of the room was all the answer they needed.
ooo000ooo
George opened his eyes and gazed blurrily at the ceiling. Ron could tell the exact moment when he realized where he was. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to move to his side, his eyes opening again as he realized he was restrained.
"What the--"
He looked up as Mum leaned forward.
"Where am I?" he said.
"You're at St. Mungo's," she said, her voice calm but still hoarse from hours of weeping.
"Why'm I--"
"Ron found you and brought you here. You're being restrained so you won't harm yourself. Again."
"What?"
Ron cleared his throat. "We know, George."
"Know what?"
"You tried to off yourself last night." Ron looked away, unable to look at George, to hear his denials. "You wanted it to look like an accident, and it would've if I hadn't happened to come back to the flat five minutes after I left. We know, George."
There was a long silence.
"If you knew," George said, his voice calm, "why did you stop me?"
Ron looked up. "Stop you from killing yourself?"
George nodded, his eyes glittering with something undefined.
"You expected us to just let you?" Mum said faintly.
"Why the hell not?"
Neither of them had an answer for that.
George closed his eyes and lay back, breathing deeply. "Let me go."
"No," said Mum.
"Let me go. Please."
"Not a chance," said Mum. "You're ill, and you're going to be taken care of until you're well again."
"I am never going to be well again, Mum," he said bitterly. "I don't want to be here and I'm not going to stay. Let me go."
"There will be somebody here with you at all times," said Mum, just as the Healers had coached her to. "The Healers prefer to have patients watched by people rather than relying on magical restraints. Dad and I will take turns being here, and when we can't be, Bill and Percy and Ron will be here."
George grimaced. "Ickle Ronniekins? You're going to set my little brother to babysit me?"
"We would ask Ginny as well," Mum said, "but she has to go back to school. The last time, you kept everyone away and discharged yourself before you were ready. This time, you won't be able to go until you really are better again."
George's forehead creased and he struggled against the restraints, but they held firm. "God, I wish I'd been at that wall when it blew up," he said, closing his eyes and lying back down again.
Ron felt his face draining of colour. "You couldn't have done anything, George," he said. "None of us could. If you'd been there all that would've happened is you might've died, too."
He knew the moment he said it that it had been the wrong thing to say, as George opened his eyes again and gave a bitter laugh. "Ron, how fucking thick are you?" he said. "I know none of you could've saved him. Still wish I could've been there, to take his place."
"How can you wish it had been you instead of him?" Mum asked quietly. "How can you say that?"
"He would've handled this better. I'm sorry, I tried. I did my best but I can't--" He broke off. "He'd be so ashamed of me," he whispered.
"What?" said Mum.
"Fred. We... we talked about this, before, we knew this might happen, and we were going to just deal with it and get on with our lives, try to honour each other by not wallowing. I tried, but... I've let him down. He'd be ashamed of me, if he could see me now."
There was a long pause.
"Well, I don't know if he would or not," said Mum. "But I know I am."
"Mum?!" Ron blurted, horrified, but George didn't react.
"Not because you're in here," Mum said, her voice shaking. "But because of what you just said. He would've - your brother loved you! He would've wanted to help you, he would never have judged you! You of all people should know that! The idea--"
"Mum, that's enough," Ron broke in.
"Don't you ever say anything like that again," said Mum, getting up. "Don't! Fred deserves better than that from you. He would've had more compassion than any of us; he would've understood, he would never have wanted his memory to be something that hurt you or made you feel worse. Don't you ever spit on his memory like that again!"
Ron stood up too, and put a hand on Mum's arm. "Mum. Why don't you go home? Please. I'll stay with him."
"Look, I will never be better again!" George said, laying his head back on the bed and glaring at Mum. "You can pretend all you want, but it's not going to happen! You can tell yourself we'll all be all right some day until you're blue in the face, but we never will be! And you can get the hell out of my fucking room, because I don't want you here! I don't want any of you!"
ooo000ooo
"I know you never got on with my father, sir," said Draco Malfoy. Arthur suppressed a snort at the understatement. "But I also know that you are a fair man, and what the Ministry's doing isn't fair."
"Your side never cared about fair," Arthur pointed out.
"And you fought against us for that," said Malfoy, his tone more respectful and subdued than his father's had ever been. "You won, sir. You deserved to, and we are all grateful that you were able to."
Arthur gave Malfoy a skeptical look, and Malfoy swallowed and continued. "We are grateful, believe it or not. We couldn't put down what we'd called up. And, unlikely as it seems, we are willing to pay for our misdeeds." He gazed at Arthur seriously. "But we still have some rights. Or rather, we should. If you can speak for us - not defend us, or what we did; only point out that we deserve legal representation too - that will help the process be fair."
"Why would I want to?" said Arthur.
"Because it's the right thing to do, sir, and you know it," said Malfoy.
Arthur stared at him.
"And so that nobody can hold grievances legitimately. So that people who believed as we believe can't say that we were punished unfairly. So that we can all move forward."
Arthur dropped his eyes. It was a sad, sad day when a Malfoy realized that a Weasley wasn't just going to do the right thing because it was the right thing to do. An even sadder thing when a Weasley knew what the right thing was, but just couldn't be arsed to care any more.
Arthur rubbed his forehead, his eyes coming to rest on the picture of his family that had been in his office since the day Bill had gone off to school. He gazed at Bill, eleven years old, wearing his most serious expression, his eyes sparkling with eagerness to be off to school. Charlie, nine, aching to follow his brother, impatient at being kept back with the "babies." Percy, six, trying to look like a big boy but surreptitiously sucking his thumb every so often. The twins, four years old, identical plasters on their elbows and knees, and eyes bright with excitement as they stared at the crowd bustling about them. Five minutes after the picture had been taken, they had both disappeared, and the Hogwarts Express had almost left late as everyone frantically tried to locate them, and finally found them in the ladies' room, trying to make a toilet explode. Ron, two years old, was crying in Arthur's arms, and Ginny, barely one, was sleeping peacefully in Molly's.
So much had changed. He gazed at the twins as they climbed onto Bill's suitcase.
He sighed. "I can't help you."
Malfoy cleared his throat. "Sir, I--"
"I'm sorry, son," said Arthur. "You're not wrong. I mean, I do hope your father rots in Azkaban for the rest of his life," he ignored Malfoy's soft indrawn breath, "but you're right, he does deserve legal representation before that's decided." He shook his head. "But I can't speak for him. I'm going on leave as of tomorrow. I'm sorry."
Malfoy gazed at Arthur curiously, his head to the side.
"I am sorry," Arthur repeated softly.
Malfoy nodded, his shoulders slumped in defeat. "All right, sir. Thank you for hearing me out."
"You're welcome," said Arthur. "And... good luck, for what it's worth."
"Thank you." Malfoy stood up, and went to the door. Then he paused, and turned. "Sir, I... I'm sorry about your son."
Arthur stared at him, and then gave a mirthless laugh, his throat going tight. "Which one?"
"Pardon me?"
"Which one? The one who was mauled, the one who died, or the one in St. Mungo's?" Malfoy's eyes widened slightly, and Arthur sighed and shook his head. "Goodbye, Mr. Malfoy."
Which one, thought Arthur as he picked up his photograph and traced a finger over the images there. His boys, his wonderful boys whom he loved more than life itself, seen grow from tiny babies to strong men he was so proud of... and he hadn't been able to protect a single one of them. The only one who had escaped relatively unscathed was Charlie. The others... one horribly scarred, one left the family for three years, one spent a year on the run - even his daughter had been tortured and terrorized during that hideous year after Dumbledore had died.
And his twins, his exasperating, amazing twins. The lucky one was six feet underground and forever twenty. The unlucky one...
"Which son? It's not Ron, is it?" Malfoy asked quietly and Arthur looked up, surprised to see him still there. "The one in the hospital?" Arthur's eyebrows went up. "Is it George? The other twin?
Arthur closed his eyes in pain. "Yes. George. The other twin." He sighed. "Mr. Malfoy, go home. I'm sorry; I can't do anything for you." He didn't bother to look around as Malfoy's footsteps slowly receded. Then he heard a soft cough.
"I'm... I'm sorry, sir," Malfoy said.
Arthur sighed. "Yes. Well. So am I."
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 7b, 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.Also: Hey,
miss_bowtruckle! It's your birthday! So I will pretend that I knew that all along, and finished editing this chapter for today on purpose, and that your birthday present is... probably the most depressing chapter in the entire story, and possibly one of the most depressing chapters I've ever written :/::ahem::
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
"See you tomorrow," said Ron.
"Yeah, see you," said George, not looking up from the stacks of Knicker Knockers he was counting. "Have fun on your date."
"Yeah, and you have fun at the concert." Ron hung his uniform up and put his wand in his pocket. "Did you let Mum know you were going?"
"No, why?"
"She'd be glad to hear you're going out. She's been worried about you."
George shrugged. "What else is new?"
"Though not so much, now Christmas is over. What a fucking nightmare, for everyone."
"Should be better next year," said George absently, recording the number of Knicker Knockers and moving on to the Soylent Greenbeans. "At least that's what the Healer said."
"He's probably right. You've been in a better mood, anyway," he said. George gave him a small smile but didn't stop counting. "Anyway, say hi to Lee."
"Lee? Oh, tonight - yeah, no, he's not going. Got sick."
Ron stopped. "Oh."
"Yeah, rotten luck. He's the one who actually liked the Bleating Banshees in the first place. Plus he wanted to visit that new curry place before the concert."
"You're going by yourself?"
George nodded.
"I could... if you want, I can--"
George glanced up at him, a small smile quirking his mouth. "Thanks, but I'm not keen on Hermione serving up my bollocks to me if I let you. She's been looking forward to this how long?"
Ron made a dismissive gesture. "If it's for you, she--"
"Ron. Go see your girlfriend."
"I don't have to--"
"To be honest, I wasn't that upset when Lee cancelled on me; I've had a splitting headache all day and there's still inventory to be done before I go, and I didn't particularly feel like making conversation." He finished with the Soylent Greenbeans and moved on to the Gargoyle Gaggers. "Now, go see that girlfriend of yours and tomorrow I'll tell you all about the Banshees, and you can tell me all about how far she let you get under her skirt."
Ron laughed. "Speaking of Hermione serving up anyone's bollocks..."
George chuckled. "Coward. Go have fun. You've earned it. You've gone above and beyond your brotherly duty, as usual. Thanks."
Ron's eyebrows went up. "Thanks. See you tomorrow."
"Don't forget to lock up the front."
Ron nodded, and stepped out. He waved his wand at the door, and did up his cloak. Let's see, he had his wand, he had Hermione's gift, he had money... he started to walk down to the Apparition point, allowing himself to think of Hermione and their date. It had been wonderful seeing her over the hols, but this long-distance thing was getting old. Especially as the hols hadn't exactly been filled with cheer, considering Mum and George and Ginny and - well, all of them, really, struggling through it.
Things were better, now. It seemed they had found some kind of peace in the last few weeks. Mum wasn't so clingy, George wasn't so broody and angry. He wasn't as he had been - God knew he probably never would be - but he seemed to have his sense of humour back. And Ron was certainly feeling a hell of a lot better.
How much of it all had to do with getting out of Auror training, though? No longer being pulled in fifty different directions, but able to devote himself to the shop and George, and to Hermione, and to his own need to heal? And he was keeping up with the Aurors, studying at night, without the grueling pace of active training.
'Need to heal', and studying voluntarily. The hell. He was starting to sound like Hermione.
He stopped, and groaned. Study. He'd forgotten his bloody Surveillance textbook. He stood in the snow for a moment, annoyed at himself, trying to decide whether to return and pick it up or not. On the one hand, he didn't want to be late for Hermione, but on the other hand...
No, it was for studying. She would understand. He sighed, and started back towards the shop.
He swore as he reached it and found it dark - George had apparently finished inventory and gone off to dinner already. Ron took out his wand and undid the wards, trying to remember where he'd left the text. Maybe in the lab?
He made his way downstairs, puzzled to find the lab door slightly open, light spilling out from inside, and peered in. A cauldron was bubbling away in the corner, and Ron felt a stab of annoyance. Bugger all this for a lark, no matter how harmless a potion seemed, really, brewing when you were alone was just plain stupid, and especially if you were supposed to be heading out for a concert--
George lay crumpled on the floor next to the cauldron, a stirring spoon on the floor beside him.
Ron's heart gave a sharp stab and he rushed to George's side and dropped to his knees.
Oh God. Oh God oh fuck oh God, he touched George's throat and mouth - fuck, not breathing, though he at least had a pulse. Time slowed down as Ron's instinct and training kicked in. Bezoar. In pocket, always, at Wheezes, and he opened George's mouth and slipped it in, dimly he was aware that he should probably be relieved, but felt nothing but a cold logical Yes as George shuddered and heaved a breath.
Good. Now he had a bit of time. A bezoar would counteract the immediate deadly effects of a bad potion or poison, but as Ron's own stay in the infirmary in sixth year had shown, it usually wasn't enough to totally negate the damage. So the next questions to answer were: what the hell had George been working with, and how was Ron going to get him to St. Mungo's. The Personal Test wards they'd put up should've alerted St. Mungo's after a minute of George not saying the counter-spell - he checked the Ward Board and felt fleeting impatience at George, it wasn't a two-minute Personal Test Alarm but a fifteen-minute Object Test Alarm, he was really going to kill George and put his foot down about brewing alone, period.
All right, that meant he only had at most fifteen minutes before St. Mungo's was alerted anyway.
He took his DA Galleon and spoke a spell to let Hermione know where he was, and that he needed her here immediately. He turned back to George, making sure he was still breathing and noting his signals just like Auror training had taught him to. Breath slow and uneven, pale, skin dry, tremors shaking him, heartbeat unsteady--
Dimly he heard Hermione calling out to him in the shop.
"In the lab!" he called back, and moved George onto his back, putting his head to George's chest and listening for a moment. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, heartbeat gone and all right, what was it his instructors had told him about Muggle resuscitation techniques when there might be poisons or charms that might interfere with magical resuscitation...
The door opened. "What the--"
"He's poisoned, I don't know with what," said Ron, getting into position straddling George and starting chest compressions, one-two-three-four-five-six - "I've lost his pulse and he isn't breathing, but the poison itself is out of his system." He reached thirty compressions, moved beside George, tilted his head back, pinched his nose and breathed into his mouth. "I'm doing AR and can't Apparate us out." He breathed again. "We're also going to need to bring along whatever he took. I think it's in that cauldron."
"Right," said Hermione crisply, and if Ron could've taken the time, he would've cheered as she went into Competent Mode, but he was busy pushing against George's chest, willing his heart to start beating again, willing his lungs to fill without Ron's help. "I'll deal with his wards and take a sample from the cauldron."
Ron nodded, breathing into George's mouth again, then compressing his chest. "The wards will lower when St. Mungo's is called anyway, but I don't want to wait that long." George's skin was still warm, although the pallor of his face brought back a horrible flashback to Fred's corpse. He averted his eyes from George's closed eyes, with his body jerking slightly in time to Ron's compressions.
"D'you know what's in the cauldron?" said Hermione. "And why can't you do an Ennervating spell or something for his heart?"
Ron looked up between compressions, and Merlin, George wasn't moving, his body lying limp. "Can't, not unless I know what poisoned him. What colour is it?" He knelt down, breathed into George's mouth again and noted a Banshees concert ticket sticking out of his shirt pocket, small curry stain on his collar.
"Light blue, opaque, about five cups worth, smells like--"
"Lemon, right, that's Chameleon Chaser potion, half-batch." Ron started compressions again, trying to remember all the ingredients. Damn, it had jonquils, which would react with Ennervate, just his luck, and he spotted a piece of paper next to George's hand. A napkin from Pandoora's Kitchen, curry sauce on the corner of the napkin, hellebore x 2? scrawled and scratched out in George's messy hand, followed by hellebore x 3? The floor needed sweeping, too. Ron blanked his mind of irrelevant thoughts; funny the things that went through your mind while you desperately tried to revive your incompetent irresponsible arse of an older brother, who was evidently far more concerned with making a potent Chameleon Chaser than making sure he didn't, you know, die.
The seconds seemed interminable as Ron pushed and breathed, and Hermione dealt with the wards, muttering to herself. Finally she gave a satisfied cry. "They're down," she said.
George suddenly coughed and breathed in.
"Good," said Ron. "Let's go." He glanced at his watch and frowned. Sixteen minutes since he'd arrived; the wards should've dinged St. Mungo's by now. He glanced at the small timer clock next to the Ward Board, set to twelve-thirty. He lifted George into his arms, shifting to support his neck as his head fell limply back, and rose to his feet. Hermione grabbed the cauldron, ingredients and napkin, and they Apparated directly into St. Mungo's.
Immediately staff surrounded them, taking George and laying him onto a stretcher, babbling questions at Ron and Hermione.
"We've got the potion recipe and some of the ingredients," said Hermione, and the St. Mungo's Potions specialist whisked them from her with a thankful smile.
"Ron?" Ron turned from George's still form to see Harry running into the hospital emergency room. "Are you all right?"
"What?"
"My Galleon just gave me your message to Hermione," he said. "I got to Wheezes just in time to hear you pop out. Guessed you might be here."
"George had an accident at the shop lab," said Hermione. "Ron found him and we brought him here."
Harry frowned, looking over to where George was being worked on by staff. "He was alone in the lab? Testing?"
Hermione shook her head quickly. "Oh, no no - he was brewing. Just an accident. He was making a batch of Chameleon Chaser." She turned to Ron. "Didn't you tell me you were having a bit of trouble with that?"
"Yeah, the colours weren't bright enough," said Ron, his voice sounding hollow to his ears. "We'd talked about making it more potent."
"That's what he'd written on the napkin, then. He put in more hellebore."
"Three times as much as the regular recipe," said Ron.
"That shouldn't have been lethal."
"Only he was making a half-batch and didn't figure that in, so three times as much turned into six times."
Hermione clapped a hand to her forehead. "And then he used the wrong Alarm spell. What a cock-up. It's a good thing you showed up; it might've been too late by the time the wards dinged St. Mungo's. Bloody hell, maybe he'll finally stop brewing alone after this, no matter what wards you have, it's not safe to--"
"It wasn't a cock-up," Ron broke in. "It was a suicide attempt."
Hermione and Harry turned to him in shock. "What?!"
"He misbrewed it deliberately," said Ron.
"But - he didn't mean to--"
"It was supposed to look like an accident," said Ron, his hands starting to shake. "He had a napkin from Pandoora's and a ticket to the Banshees, but there wasn't time for him to have eaten yet and the Banshees concert hasn't even started yet. His breath didn't smell of curry either. After we found his body, the napkin and ticket stub were supposed to make it look like he'd gone to supper, then the concert, come home, then misbrewed."
"But--"
Ron felt his legs trembling and put a hand on the wall waiting room wall. No, he couldn't lose it. Not yet. "The Alarm ward wasn't just wrong; it wasn't even cast yet," he said, and swallowed. "The timer clock next to it was set to twelve-thirty. It was supposed to activate at twelve-thirty, give him fifteen minutes, then ding St. Mungo's. They were supposed to get there and find him dead already, and it was all supposed to be an unfortunate accident. Bastard. If they manage to save his life, I'm going to kill him."
Harry and Hermione stood gaping at him, then turned to George. Ron's breath was coming more quickly now, his entire body shaking with the aftereffects, now that George was somebody else's responsibility.
Suicide. George had tried to off himself. What they'd all feared, ever since Fred's death, had almost happened.
Hermione took him by the hand and led him to the nearest bench. "Ron, you need to call your family."
Ron shook his head. "No."
"You can't keep this to yourself."
"I can't. It'll kill them. Besides, he didn't want us to know, and none of us would've known, if..." He pushed his hair back, noting his hand was shaking rather badly. He took a breath. "Percy. He'll know what to do. That's who George called back in September."
"He also had Lee with him when he checked in."
"Lee's sick." Ron paused and shook his head. "No, he's probably not. George probably slipped him something so he'd miss the concert tonight. So George could do... this."
"All right, Ron, I'm going to call Percy," said Hermione. "Ron?" He looked up. "I'm going to call Percy. I'll be back. Harry?"
Harry started and moved to Ron's side, sinking down to the bench beside him. Ron stared blankly at the mediwizards as they roughly pushed back George's hair and made weird wand movements that drew lighted symbols over his temples, the base of his throat, the middle of his chest, his wrists, and his closed eyes.
It seemed like only moments until Ron heard the door open. He looked up at Percy, wearing a casual shirt, no tie, and had a flashback. Telling on Fred and George to their older brother, and feeling like a sneak, knowing that Percy would make sure they got in the proper amount of trouble for whatever they'd done.
"What's happened?" asked Percy. He glanced at George and the mediwizards, and blanched. "Hermione's been giving me some of the details. Misbrewed potion? And you don't think it was an accident?"
"It was supposed to look like an accident. He bloody well tried to kill himself." Ron stared at Percy, anger beginning to bubble up past the numbness and fear of the last hour. After everything they'd done for George, everything Ron had done for him, given up on the Aurors, worked day and night at the bloody shop, worried about him, visited him in the hospital, worked with family and friends looking after him, tried so fucking hard to help him - though both twins had been the bane of Ron's existence through their childhoods, and George still was - Ron was tempted to tell the mediwizards to step back and let him fucking well die, if that's what he really wanted. It was like every flashback to Fred and George was bubbling up, and once again Ron was running to Percy and crying to him while Fred and George laughed at him, using his Puffskein as a Bludger, turning his teddy bear into a spider and his hair into feathers, not caring at all how much they hurt him - and he glared at George, still and pale as the mediwizards worked on him. Lying there silently just like Fred, ripping their hearts out all over again, just like Fred, except Fred hadn't done it deliberately, Fred would've fought like hell to keep living if he'd only had a chance. Fred hadn't meant to hurt any of them, but George hadn't given a shit. Looking exactly like Fred, only Fred had died a hero and George would've died a bloody coward, taking the easy way out, as if he was the only one who cared that Fred was gone, as if the rest of them hadn't gone through hell too, as if the rest of them could stand to bury another brother, another son, less than a year after the first one, and bloody hell they were in no way alike.
Vaguely he could feel Hermione put a hand on his arm, but he shook her off impatiently, speaking to Percy. "He was just going to die, in the testing room, and we were going to find him and think it was a fucking accident instead of, of--" he was so angry he couldn't speak. An accident. If Ron hadn't been an idiot and left behind his book, he would've walked in to work tomorrow only to find another dead brother.
Actually, no, he wouldn't have; the wards would've dinged to St. Mungo's and some emergency crew would've gone in, and by the time Ron showed up the next day it would've been all over and a St. Mungo's Healer would've called Mum and Dad to tell them that they were down to five kids now. And the ticket stub in George's pocket, and the dinner plans he'd talked about, would've made it seem like it was just an unfortunate accident...
They would've thought it was an accident. They never would have known that George was so fucking miserable he'd chosen to end his own life rather than keep struggling to find meaning in it.
None of them would've known.
They never would have known just how desperate he was. They wouldn't have known that he'd had to plan to make it look like it was just an unfortunate accident, so that none of his family would find his dead body, none of them would know that they'd failed him. George would have lived his last moments completely alone, with nobody to know how much he hurt, nobody to try to ease his pain, no goodbyes, nobody to hold him, try to breathe life back into his body.
Not like Fred, who'd died among brothers and friends, full of fierce joy to his very last breath. Nothing like Fred at all.
Ron blinked, only realizing his eyes had filled with tears from the sudden coolness on his cheeks as they spilled over. He turned back to the mediwizards working over George, who lay still and pale and unresponsive, his fingers potion-stained, their nails bitten down to the quick. His frame too slender, full of the small scars of the last several years as a prankster and the last months pushing himself every single day just to get through the day at all.
"Oh my God, George," Ron whispered, and his voice broke.
Percy sat down next to him and pulled Ron into his arms, and Ron was forcibly reminded of stumbling to Fred's side during the break in the battle at the school, the entire family gathered around his dead body, George sitting hollow-eyed at his head, and Percy clinging to Ron for comfort for once.
He lay his head on Percy's shoulder and let the tears come.
"We failed him." He couldn't stop seeing George in his mind's eye, taking the potion alone, lying down to die alone, as he had never been since before he and Fred had breathed their first breaths. As he had been since the moment Fred breathed his last.
Percy shook his head, his voice tight. "We didn't. We tried. He tried. It just wasn't enough."
"I should have known. I work with him. I thought he was better--"
Percy cleared his throat. "I thought so too. He seemed better. The last few weeks..."
George had seemed better. He'd seemed calmer. He'd smiled at all the right times, joked with customers, cleaned and organized the shop with calm efficiency, and the weight that had seemed to press down on him for months had seemed to lift.
Ron buried his head on Percy's shoulder, sobs racking him, and felt Percy break down as well.
"God, we've all tried so bloody hard," Percy said brokenly. "We just can't. We can't help him."
And they couldn't. All of George's brothers and his sister, and his parents, and Harry and Hermione and Lee as well, were simply not enough. They couldn't replace the half of George that was gone forever. He could hear Harry and Hermione's grief as well, all of them frustrated and angry and scared, and sobbing in a huddled group together because there was nothing else to be done.
All right, he needed to get a grip and bring himself back under control. He shuddered and took a deep breath, raising his head from Percy's shoulder. "Merlin, look at all of us," he said, wiping his eyes. "Fred would be laughing at us right now."
Percy shook his head. "Can you imagine Fred laughing while George was in pain?" he asked. "I missed the chance to get to know Fred as an adult. But I can't see him doing anything other than crying harder than any of us right now."
Ron nodded. And he could almost feel Fred's presence among them, feel his pain and fear, feel him almost as though he could touch him. Could almost see him standing over George, as the mediwizards continued to work on him, their wands making odd patterns of light over him. One of the mediwitches moved away from George and approached them.
"How is he?" Hermione asked her.
"He's fighting," said the mediwitch. "He's very strong."
"That's... that's good, isn't it?"
"No, he's not fighting to live," said the mediwitch. "He's fighting against us." Ron wiped his cheeks, and the mediwitch pulled up a chair in front of him and Percy. "He will be all right. Physically. You got the poison out of his system, and there's three of us and only one of him. He'll remain unconscious for a long time, but he's no longer in any danger of death or permanent damage. You saved your brother's life."
Somehow that didn't seem comforting at all.
"He seemed better," said Percy, his voice soft. "Ever since after Christmas."
"Maybe he was better because he'd figured out what he was going to do," said the mediwitch quietly. "Sometimes when people have worked out a plan, they feel better. They feel as though whatever pain they're in is going to have an ending, and it makes it easier for them to cope with it." She cleared her throat. "He will have to be admitted to the Mental Maladies ward, though," she said. "I believe he was here a few months ago?"
"Yeah. Checked himself in voluntarily," said Ron.
"He won't have a choice this time," the mediwitch said. "And he probably won't be terribly pleased when he wakes up."
Ron shook his head. "No, I suppose not."
"He'll be all right," said the mediwitch. "He's breathing on his own now, and we've got him stabilized. We're going to move him to the ward. Could you stay and complete some paperwork for us?"
Ron gazed at George, who looked pale but peaceful. He stood and moved to George's side and touched his arm, then dropped his hand as the orderlies wheeled him away.
"It would also be good to decide now who will be with him when he awakens," said the mediwitch. "We should also discuss his condition with a few more family members."
Ron and Percy exchanged a look. "I'll do the paperwork," murmured Percy. "You think about what we're going to tell people for now. Then we'll talk to George after he wakes up, see what he wants."
Ron nodded, and the door burst open. "What happened?" Ginny asked, running in, panic-stricken, a nauseated-looking Lee right behind her. "Is George all right?"
Oh shit. "He's fine," Ron said hastily. "What happened? Why are you here?" And bugger it all, this was not on; he and Percy hadn't had a chance to decide what to tell the rest of the family--
"I went home and I looked at the clock - George's hand pointed to Mortal Danger for a bit, then back to Lost. I've been going frantic trying to find him. Went to Lee's and his location spell said George was here."
"You have a spell that checks on George's whereabouts?"
"Yeah," said Lee defensively. "Look, I've been worried about him, all right? It's not... stalking or anything. He won't let us worry too much."
"He had an accident," Percy stepped in smoothly. "With a product he was brewing. He's all right."
"Why the hell didn't you tell anybody?" asked Ginny.
"Didn't want to worry everyone, it wasn't that serious--"
"Not that serious?" Lee repeated. "Mortal Danger and taken to St. Mungo's isn't that serious?"
"You're shaking," Ginny said to Ron, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.
"Nothing, just, you know, pissed at him," Ron said, deciding to follow Percy's lead. "He was fine. We didn't call you because he was fine."
"What the hell aren't you telling us?" She looked at all four of them, and all of them projected blankness back. "Harry," she said, her voice low. "You promised. No more secrets."
Harry swallowed but shook his head. "Gin, there was no need to worry anybody. He made a mistake, that's all."
"Gonna kill him when he wakes up, though," Ron said, striving for an annoyed tone. "He knows better. Maybe this'll teach him to finally listen to us when we tell him not to brew alone."
Percy gave a short laugh. "Fat chance. I think we'll have to set wards so you actually can't do anything alone in the lab."
Ron nodded. "Yeah. Bill can help. And if George doesn't like it, he can fuck himself. I'm not doing this again."
Hermione nodded, patting his arm, and squeezed his hand.
Lee stared at all of them, then at Ginny. "Good luck trying to convince him," he said, his voice carefully neutral.
"He won't have a choice," Ron said grimly. "I'll quit if he doesn't agree to it."
Ginny's suspicious glare hadn't abated one bit. Her eyes narrowed again and she stepped closer to Ron. "You've been crying," she said evenly.
Ron felt himself flushing. "Erm, well it was upsetting. It could've been quite serious. We were worried--"
"You just said you didn't contact anybody else because you didn't want to worry us," Lee said flatly. "Because it wasn't that serious."
"There wasn't any point, he was--"
"You're lying," Ginny said angrily. "All of you. What really happened?"
"He tried to off himself, did he?" Lee said, his voice still flat, and the utter stillness of the room was all the answer they needed.
George opened his eyes and gazed blurrily at the ceiling. Ron could tell the exact moment when he realized where he was. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to move to his side, his eyes opening again as he realized he was restrained.
"What the--"
He looked up as Mum leaned forward.
"Where am I?" he said.
"You're at St. Mungo's," she said, her voice calm but still hoarse from hours of weeping.
"Why'm I--"
"Ron found you and brought you here. You're being restrained so you won't harm yourself. Again."
"What?"
Ron cleared his throat. "We know, George."
"Know what?"
"You tried to off yourself last night." Ron looked away, unable to look at George, to hear his denials. "You wanted it to look like an accident, and it would've if I hadn't happened to come back to the flat five minutes after I left. We know, George."
There was a long silence.
"If you knew," George said, his voice calm, "why did you stop me?"
Ron looked up. "Stop you from killing yourself?"
George nodded, his eyes glittering with something undefined.
"You expected us to just let you?" Mum said faintly.
"Why the hell not?"
Neither of them had an answer for that.
George closed his eyes and lay back, breathing deeply. "Let me go."
"No," said Mum.
"Let me go. Please."
"Not a chance," said Mum. "You're ill, and you're going to be taken care of until you're well again."
"I am never going to be well again, Mum," he said bitterly. "I don't want to be here and I'm not going to stay. Let me go."
"There will be somebody here with you at all times," said Mum, just as the Healers had coached her to. "The Healers prefer to have patients watched by people rather than relying on magical restraints. Dad and I will take turns being here, and when we can't be, Bill and Percy and Ron will be here."
George grimaced. "Ickle Ronniekins? You're going to set my little brother to babysit me?"
"We would ask Ginny as well," Mum said, "but she has to go back to school. The last time, you kept everyone away and discharged yourself before you were ready. This time, you won't be able to go until you really are better again."
George's forehead creased and he struggled against the restraints, but they held firm. "God, I wish I'd been at that wall when it blew up," he said, closing his eyes and lying back down again.
Ron felt his face draining of colour. "You couldn't have done anything, George," he said. "None of us could. If you'd been there all that would've happened is you might've died, too."
He knew the moment he said it that it had been the wrong thing to say, as George opened his eyes again and gave a bitter laugh. "Ron, how fucking thick are you?" he said. "I know none of you could've saved him. Still wish I could've been there, to take his place."
"How can you wish it had been you instead of him?" Mum asked quietly. "How can you say that?"
"He would've handled this better. I'm sorry, I tried. I did my best but I can't--" He broke off. "He'd be so ashamed of me," he whispered.
"What?" said Mum.
"Fred. We... we talked about this, before, we knew this might happen, and we were going to just deal with it and get on with our lives, try to honour each other by not wallowing. I tried, but... I've let him down. He'd be ashamed of me, if he could see me now."
There was a long pause.
"Well, I don't know if he would or not," said Mum. "But I know I am."
"Mum?!" Ron blurted, horrified, but George didn't react.
"Not because you're in here," Mum said, her voice shaking. "But because of what you just said. He would've - your brother loved you! He would've wanted to help you, he would never have judged you! You of all people should know that! The idea--"
"Mum, that's enough," Ron broke in.
"Don't you ever say anything like that again," said Mum, getting up. "Don't! Fred deserves better than that from you. He would've had more compassion than any of us; he would've understood, he would never have wanted his memory to be something that hurt you or made you feel worse. Don't you ever spit on his memory like that again!"
Ron stood up too, and put a hand on Mum's arm. "Mum. Why don't you go home? Please. I'll stay with him."
"Look, I will never be better again!" George said, laying his head back on the bed and glaring at Mum. "You can pretend all you want, but it's not going to happen! You can tell yourself we'll all be all right some day until you're blue in the face, but we never will be! And you can get the hell out of my fucking room, because I don't want you here! I don't want any of you!"
"I know you never got on with my father, sir," said Draco Malfoy. Arthur suppressed a snort at the understatement. "But I also know that you are a fair man, and what the Ministry's doing isn't fair."
"Your side never cared about fair," Arthur pointed out.
"And you fought against us for that," said Malfoy, his tone more respectful and subdued than his father's had ever been. "You won, sir. You deserved to, and we are all grateful that you were able to."
Arthur gave Malfoy a skeptical look, and Malfoy swallowed and continued. "We are grateful, believe it or not. We couldn't put down what we'd called up. And, unlikely as it seems, we are willing to pay for our misdeeds." He gazed at Arthur seriously. "But we still have some rights. Or rather, we should. If you can speak for us - not defend us, or what we did; only point out that we deserve legal representation too - that will help the process be fair."
"Why would I want to?" said Arthur.
"Because it's the right thing to do, sir, and you know it," said Malfoy.
Arthur stared at him.
"And so that nobody can hold grievances legitimately. So that people who believed as we believe can't say that we were punished unfairly. So that we can all move forward."
Arthur dropped his eyes. It was a sad, sad day when a Malfoy realized that a Weasley wasn't just going to do the right thing because it was the right thing to do. An even sadder thing when a Weasley knew what the right thing was, but just couldn't be arsed to care any more.
Arthur rubbed his forehead, his eyes coming to rest on the picture of his family that had been in his office since the day Bill had gone off to school. He gazed at Bill, eleven years old, wearing his most serious expression, his eyes sparkling with eagerness to be off to school. Charlie, nine, aching to follow his brother, impatient at being kept back with the "babies." Percy, six, trying to look like a big boy but surreptitiously sucking his thumb every so often. The twins, four years old, identical plasters on their elbows and knees, and eyes bright with excitement as they stared at the crowd bustling about them. Five minutes after the picture had been taken, they had both disappeared, and the Hogwarts Express had almost left late as everyone frantically tried to locate them, and finally found them in the ladies' room, trying to make a toilet explode. Ron, two years old, was crying in Arthur's arms, and Ginny, barely one, was sleeping peacefully in Molly's.
So much had changed. He gazed at the twins as they climbed onto Bill's suitcase.
He sighed. "I can't help you."
Malfoy cleared his throat. "Sir, I--"
"I'm sorry, son," said Arthur. "You're not wrong. I mean, I do hope your father rots in Azkaban for the rest of his life," he ignored Malfoy's soft indrawn breath, "but you're right, he does deserve legal representation before that's decided." He shook his head. "But I can't speak for him. I'm going on leave as of tomorrow. I'm sorry."
Malfoy gazed at Arthur curiously, his head to the side.
"I am sorry," Arthur repeated softly.
Malfoy nodded, his shoulders slumped in defeat. "All right, sir. Thank you for hearing me out."
"You're welcome," said Arthur. "And... good luck, for what it's worth."
"Thank you." Malfoy stood up, and went to the door. Then he paused, and turned. "Sir, I... I'm sorry about your son."
Arthur stared at him, and then gave a mirthless laugh, his throat going tight. "Which one?"
"Pardon me?"
"Which one? The one who was mauled, the one who died, or the one in St. Mungo's?" Malfoy's eyes widened slightly, and Arthur sighed and shook his head. "Goodbye, Mr. Malfoy."
Which one, thought Arthur as he picked up his photograph and traced a finger over the images there. His boys, his wonderful boys whom he loved more than life itself, seen grow from tiny babies to strong men he was so proud of... and he hadn't been able to protect a single one of them. The only one who had escaped relatively unscathed was Charlie. The others... one horribly scarred, one left the family for three years, one spent a year on the run - even his daughter had been tortured and terrorized during that hideous year after Dumbledore had died.
And his twins, his exasperating, amazing twins. The lucky one was six feet underground and forever twenty. The unlucky one...
"Which son? It's not Ron, is it?" Malfoy asked quietly and Arthur looked up, surprised to see him still there. "The one in the hospital?" Arthur's eyebrows went up. "Is it George? The other twin?
Arthur closed his eyes in pain. "Yes. George. The other twin." He sighed. "Mr. Malfoy, go home. I'm sorry; I can't do anything for you." He didn't bother to look around as Malfoy's footsteps slowly receded. Then he heard a soft cough.
"I'm... I'm sorry, sir," Malfoy said.
Arthur sighed. "Yes. Well. So am I."
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 7b, Rock Bottom
Part 8, Lethe
Part 9, Severance
Part 10, Wizengamot
Part 11, May 1
