A Bit Unhealthy

Two months later Ron's working the register at the shop when Angelina walks in, looking rather grim.

He's immediately intrigued. She hasn't been around, not since about a month after the war. George and Lee never talk about her any more, though Ron knows that Lee gets together with her every now and then. She spots George. George is helping a small child with a broken toy and Ron was just thinking he's pretty good at that kind of thing and then Angelina's there and George finishes with the child, eyeing her warily. She says something to him and they go into the office, and Ron doesn't have time to wonder what the hell that's all about because less than two customers later she's walking out of the office and out of the shop. Ron glances over to the office door and sees George, his face pale and blank, leaning against the door of his office and watching her leave. George's eyes pass over him and Ron can tell he hasn't registered who he's looking at, and then George slowly makes his way to the back of the shop and up the stairs to the flat. Ron hears his footsteps speed up and hurries after him, not caring that the shop is full of customers. Verity can handle them.

As he reaches the flat he can hear retching sounds from the bathroom. Holy fuck, thinks Ron. He rushes to the bathroom and flings the door open, and finds George heaving, his hands shaking as they hold on to the porcelain.

"What the fuck?" Ron begins, and George waves him off weakly. Ron ignores him; George always wants people to go away these days, and if they paid any attention to that he'd be alone all the time and depressed, so instead they probably overcrowd him but hey, it works; he's quiet and subdued and often looks miserable, but he could've been doing a lot worse. Ron quickly gets a facecloth wet and kneels down, putting the cloth to George's forehead. He's been there through more than a few of George's drinking bouts in the last few months, and George has been there for some of Ron's, and they've become used to this routine.

"What the fuck happened?" Ron asks as the retching starts to die down, and George shakes his head. "Come on, George. You're not hung-over and you weren't in the testing room. Something happened with Angelina. Don't make me call Mum." George closes his eyes and heaves once more.

Ron waits till George is done, then cleans him up and asks again. George lets him know in no uncertain terms and no few expletives that it's really none of Ron's business.

They go back to work, but George is completely off. Ron has to get his attention several times and at one point he finds himself weighing whether or not sending George to the lab to get him away from the customers would be worth the risk of having him blow the place up. He decides to just let George muddle through, and finds various menial tasks for him to do.

"George, we're low on Snackboxes."

"Oi, could you get the mail?"

"Spill in the Aisle of Man," he calls out after upending a box of Macho Nachos. He figures it's better for customer relations to have only himself and Verity dealing with customers, rather than letting the customers see George is so completely out of it that he can barely explain his own products, let alone get any of the customers' jokes.

Finally the day is over without major catastrophe. Ron finishes re-stocking Groaning Gummies and makes his way upstairs, where he's asked George if he can kip over the next couple of days. Ostensibly he's here because Auror Training is going through morning exercises and he wants to be close to the Ministry. Really it's because Lee told him he'd be gone for a week.

"George, you going to finish that?" Ron asks, hungrily eying the overly soft carrots still left on George's plate. All attempts at small talk during supper have foundered - not that George is all that much into conversation these days anyway - and Ron's taken out his books and settled down to study interrogation techniques while George goes over accounts for the shop.

George passes his plate over absently, and Ron goes back to studying, idly munching on the carrots as he reads. He's deep into Veritaserum side-effects when George suddenly breaks his silence.

"She's pregnant."

"Who's that?" Ron asks distractedly, still struggling to understand why goldenrod plays such havoc on the truth-telling capacity of Veritaserum and vaguely wondering about using goldenrod in Wheeze's Tall Tales Toffees.

"Angelina."

Ron looks up. "What?"

George's staring down at his parchment of figures. "Angelina's pregnant."

Ron stares at him. For a moment, he literally can't make sense of it. Angelina? Pregnant? How? Who? George has put his elbows on the table and his head in his hands, and Ron's totally lost.

"Angelina? Quidditch Angelina? Pregnant?" George nods. Ron's mind suddenly adds one plus one and he's stunned. "And it's yours," he says flatly, as suddenly a lot of things make sense. George's reaction to her visit this morning. The way she suddenly disappeared from his life a few months ago. The way George and Lee didn't talk about her any more. The way George had withdrawn from everybody, all of a sudden, at the same time as Angelina disappeared.

Shit.

George seems dazed. "Yeah. She thinks so."

"She just thinks she's pregnant?"

"Got a test done a week ago."

Ron blinks, a bit confused. "Shit. What's she going to do?"

"She's not sure. She's thinking about ending it."

"The pregnancy?"

"Yeah."

Ron can't imagine what else to say; this is all too surreal. "But do you - I mean, do you want her to, or do you want-"

"Doesn't matter what I want."

"'Course it matters," Ron says indignantly. "It's your kid too." He and George give a small start as the Floo activates, and moments later, Percy's walking into the kitchen, absently dusting ash off his robes.

"George, are you ready?"

George blinks at him, lost. "For what?"

"We're supposed to be going over to the Apothecary distributor. Remember?" Percy is patience itself these days - at least with George. "I told you last Monday. Don't worry, you don't have anything else on your schedule, I made sure." He waves his wand over their dishes and they float over to the sink. "You should probably put on something else." George looks down at his potion-stained Weird Sisters t-shirt. "The Apothecary's a little particular."

"I..."

"Merlin, George, don't you ever use cleaning charms?" Percy says, glancing askance at the rather dingy magenta and aqua kitchen. "And Ron, you're not living at home, George isn't Mum, you've got to do your part around here too." He quickly waves his wand at some of the crustier plates sitting around the flat, sending them to the sink, spots a lime green WWW testing goblet in the exodus and plucks it out of the air. "Is this the new base for the Amphi-beans?"

"Erm. Yeah," George says.

Percy takes a small sip, then quickly spits it back into the cup. "It's not going to turn me into a newt, is it?" he asks.

George shakes his head and Percy only hesitates a moment before taking another sip. Now, that's not right, Ron thinks; Percy trusts one of George's ingredients on just his say-so. If Fred were here...

"It's much better than the last one," Percy says appreciatively. "Bit too sweet, but then again it's not supposed to be taken by itself." He nods approvingly, then finally seems to sense something amiss.

"What's wrong?" Percy asks, looking from Ron to George.

They hesitate, and then George sits back with a resigned sigh and motions to Ron. "Go ahead."

"He got Angelina Johnson pregnant," Ron says bluntly.

"He got who what?"

"Angelina Johnson," says George.

"Pregnant," says Ron.

"Who did?"

Ron nods towards George.

Percy blinks. "You?" George looks away, and Percy jaw drops. "You're joking."

"Wish I was."

"No, you don't joke much any more." Percy pulls out a chair and sits down heavily. "What happened?"

"We slept together."

"Thanks, I figured that out, Dad had The Talk with me too. When? What happened? And how long have you been worried about this, and hang on wasn't Angelina Fred's-"

"I wasn't worried. I didn't even know. She came by today and told me."

"Why didn't you say you two were, erm-"

"Because we weren't. It was just once. Two months ago. We were drunk."

"Oh fuck," Percy says wearily, lifting his glasses and rubbing his eyes.

Ron's not sure he's ever heard Percy swear before.

"So what happened?" Percy asks, settling his glasses again.

George shakes his head. "I don't really remember much, to be honest, we were both so drunk. I don't remember how we got to my bedroom. And the next day, she - she woke up first and I suppose she saw the Winbourne Wasps poster and realized, you know, wrong team, wrong twin." He runs a hand through his hair and Percy blanches.

"So she was with..."

"She was with Fred before, yeah. Sort of. Not really, not officially. They were - he, he wanted to ask her out properly after the war was over, but."

"Oh, shit," says Percy softly.

"And then I woke up," says George. "And she already had her clothes on and she was crying and, and - I tried to touch her, just to - but she, she was so - you should've seen how she looked at me, fuck, it was-" George's voice roughens and he breaks off, covering his eyes with one hand.

"Merlin. George." Percy puts a hand on George's trembling shoulder. "What are you going to do?" he asks after a few moments.

"I don't know," George manages to say.

"Does she want you involved?"

"Fuck no," George says, and sits up, clearing his throat and wiping his eyes, back in control. "Why would she?"

"It's your child too," Percy says quietly.

George shakes his head. "I think the fact that she hates me now sort of outweighs that."

"Why would she hate you?"

"You didn't see her. And why shouldn't she? I took advantage of her, I-"

"You'd both been drinking!" Ron protests.

"I was supposed to look after her. Fred asked me to, if anything happened to him, and maybe I should've asked for clarification but I'm almost certain he didn't mean 'please get her up the duff after a one-nighter if you can.'"

"You - she used you, George," says Percy. "You said yourself, she didn't want you, she wanted Fred, and she knew you were drunk and-"

"I was drunk, not brain-dead, Perce," George says scornfully. "It wasn't exactly difficult to figure that out. I just didn't care. Some friend."

Ron and Percy share a troubled glance. "And you... you haven't talked to her since then?" says Percy.

"No. Lee's been to see her. I asked him to, the next day."

"What for?" asks Ron.

George rolls his eyes. "To talk about the new WonderWitch line. What do you think? Fred asked me to take care of her. I was trying to. She was pretty upset when she left."

"What did she say to him?"

"Didn't want to talk about it. Just said she wanted to pretend it never happened." He shrugs. "At least we agreed on that much."

"So that's why she disappeared." Ron heaves a sigh. "I'd sort of wondered."

"Yeah. She told Lee she didn't ever want to see my face again." Percy makes a small noise in his throat, and George shrugs again. "She told him it wasn't even about that night, so much; only I look too much like Fred."

Ron forces himself not to flinch. He's not the only one, then, who's had to work hard not to blame George for the jolt Ron still feels sometimes when he sees him and momentarily forgets that Fred's gone. "That's not fair."

"Think Angelina's the only one who feels that way?" George says bitterly, and Percy's eyes meet Ron's for a brief, guilty moment. "I've seen the way everyone looks at me. Even Mum and Dad. Like for a moment they think he's alive. And then they realize it's just me."

"George..." Ron begins, but can't think of anything else to say.

"Feels like a kick in the bollocks, every single time," George says grimly. "Angelina was one of the only people who never did that. Until that night."

Damn it, Angelina, thinks Ron. You absolute bitch.

Which probably isn't fair. Angelina's hurting, they all are, and Ron has gathered the war was hard on her too, what with being Muggleborn, but... if there's anybody who doesn't need any more grief now that the war is over, it's George.

"What are you going to tell Mum and Dad?" asks Percy quietly.

"Oh God," George groans and covers his eyes. "I don't know. Mum'll go mental..."

"Well then maybe get Dad to tell her," says Percy practically. "Though this isn't exactly a ringing endorsement of your readiness to be a father, what with you still being scared of your own mum."

"Don't remind me," George says, his voice muffled. "I'm not ready."

ooo000ooo

"You're joking," says Dad two days later.

"Why does everyone keep saying that?" George blows out his breath impatiently. "Do I look like I'm laughing?" The rest of the family is open-mouthed, except for Percy and Ron and Lee. This topic was supposed to be worked up to after the Sunday dinner pudding, not blurted out in the middle of the soup.

"I take it this wasn't planned," Ginny says, striving for an even tone. Not an easy task, after your brother has answered "Making anything new in the lab, George?" with "No, only in Angelina. She's pregnant."

George grimaces. "Oh, no, we both decided this would be the perfect time to start a family. What with things being so peaceful and settled and joyful all around."

"When did you find out?" asks Bill.

"Two days ago." George glances around the table uncomfortably. "Sorry to, erm, drop it on everyone like that," he mutters.

"George. Oh Georgie," Mum says, and there are tears in her eyes. She stands and moves to his chair, hugging him close. He closes his eyes and rests his head against her as she strokes his hair. "What... how..." she shakes her head and hugs him closer. "Are you all right? Is she all right?"

George shrugs uncomfortably. "She's not terribly happy about it. And she's... she's not happy with me."

Mum frowns. "Were you in charge of the precautions? For heaven's sake, potions and charms do fail sometimes-"

"Erm... it didn't come up, to be honest."

Mum pulls away slightly and peers down at him. "What?"

George squares his shoulders. "We didn't. Take any precautions, that is."

Mum's mouth drops open. "Why not?" she finally asks.

George shakes his head. "We were both drunk, Mum. That's the only reason anything happened between us in the first place."

"Being drunk is no excuse!" Mum snaps. "Have you been careless this whole time?"

"No but-"

"I should hope not! We taught you better than that!"

"Molly," says Dad. "Please, what's done is done."

Mum ignores him and glares at George. "If you could manage to stay out of trouble before, why-"

"Because I'd never slept with anyone else, all right?" George snaps. "It was my first time. And believe me, I'm very seriously considering making it my last."

Ron's breath catches in his throat. George's first time, drunk and grieving and with a girl he didn't want and didn't love, who certainly didn't want or love him back, and had probably been thinking of somebody else the entire time.

Hermione's hand steals into his. He has never been so grateful for her presence in his life - except possibly all those times when she saved his life and Harry's.

Mum finally breaks the silence. "Georgie..." she whispers. "I'm so sorry."

Dad clears his throat. "So. Erm. What are you going to do?"

"Don't know."

"Have you talked about getting married?"

"Merlin's balls, no," George says, almost physically flinching from the suggestion.

"It's not that outlandish an idea," says Mum defensively. "People used to get married as a matter of course when they got pregnant by accident."

"Even if I wanted to... it sure as hell wouldn't be with Angelina Johnson."

"Why not?"

George blows out his breath. "Be serious, Mum. She's - she was just a friend. I wasn't the one who was hoping to marry her someday. Fred was."

Ron's eyebrows shoot up and he glances around the table, gathering from the stunned looks all around that, except for Lee, none of the rest of them even suspected Fred had hoped for any such thing.

"Is she going to keep the baby?" Dad asks quietly.

"I don't know," says George.

"What did you tell her you wanted?"

"Didn't say anything."

"Why not?"

"Because she didn't ask, and I doubt she wants to know anyway."

Mum frowns. "But you're the father, you've got certain rights under the law-"

George shakes his head. "I don't have any rights."

"But if you're-"

"She's not sure," George interrupts her.

"Not sure of what?"

"That I'm the father."

There's a profound silence. Lee has put down his spoon and is staring at the tablecloth, a shuttered expression on his face.

"Sorry, what?" says Ron.

"She's not completely sure it's mine," says George evenly. "Odds are, it is, but she's not sure."

Ron feels a bit sick. "So she... Merlin, that's..." He stops, not wanting to say how he feels right now about the woman who may one day - fairly soon - be the mother of his first niece or nephew.

These last few months have been like a crash course in learning how different individuals deal with grief; some people drink, some withdraw from the world, some bury themselves in work, some cling to their family and friends. And some - Hannah Abbott, for example - take to having sex with anyone who'll have them. If Angelina was depressed enough to turn to George, of all people, how many other-

"Really. And how many other men could be the father?" Mum asks, her voice trembling with disapproval now.

"Just one."

"Just one," Mum repeats. "Well. How charming. And what about the other gentleman in question? What does he think?"

"Not a lot," George says heavily.

"She hasn't told him, then. Wonderful. Why not?"

"She can't."

"Why not?" Mum asks angrily. "Does she even know the bastard's name?"

George starts to laugh, but there's a tinge of hysteria in it and the rest of them share looks of alarm. All except for Lee, who's shaking his head and pressing his lips together. "No, I'm sorry," George says, trying to stop laughing, "it's just... you have no idea how funny that is. Come on, Lee, you have to admit..." Lee still doesn't look amused at all, and George sighs as his humour fades. "All right, maybe not." He runs a hand through his hair. "Yeah, she knows the bastard's name. And if we could manage to tell him, a lot of things would be very different, believe me. And you shouldn't call him a bastard, because he isn- he wasn't. You were married when Fred was born, right?"

Mum's eyes widen.

"Yeah, the other gentleman in question," George says bitterly. "She was with him a week before he died, at Aunt Muriel's, and then with me a month after the battle. Five weeks apart, and she didn't get her period in between. She thinks it's mine, but it's possible it could be Fred's."

Ron's not sure the Weasley kitchen has ever been as still as it is right now.

What is there to say, really?

Arthur clears his throat first. "Well." He clears it again. "Well, then, there's a test she can do, to determine-"

"She won't do it. She doesn't want me involved. If she does the test and I'm the father-"

"But you should be involved!" says Ginny. "Otherwise she could just end it without you being able to-"

"I beg your pardon?" Hermione speaks up for the first time. "Are you actually saying that a wizard can force a witch to bear his child, if he's the father?"

"Yes," says Bill. "Sometimes. I know it's different in the Muggle world, and I know it probably sounds barbaric to you, but wizards have had fairly reliable contraception for centuries, and we've been trying to keep our numbers up for almost as long." Hermione opens her mouth and Bill gives her a pained look. "Hermione, I'll be happy to talk to you about the differences between Muggle and wizarding reproductive rights, later. Not right now."

Hermione closes her mouth and sits back, frowning.

"George," Ginny begins, "you have a right to-"

"No I don't."

Lee shakes his head but doesn't say anything, crossing his arms and looking away.

"George," Arthur says gently, "the law that says you need to be the father to have a say in your child's life wasn't meant for wizards who are willing to acknowledge their children. It was written so that no witch could make a wizard take responsibility for a child that wasn't his-"

"And so that no wizard could force a witch to bear his child if she didn't want to acknowledge him as its father," George interrupts. "It was written to discourage wizards from sleeping with witches who might not let them be involved in their children's lives. It was written for people like me."

Percy clears his throat. "Could you make her take the test?"

"He might be able to," Lee finally speaks up. "And I told him that yesterday. He won't."

"Why not?" asks Percy.

"I'd have to get the Wizengamot involved," says George. "D'you really think I want to explain what happened in court? Have all of it in official records at the Ministry?" He shakes his head. "Not a chance. I wouldn't do that to her. Or to Fred."

ooo000ooo

Angelina shows up at the shop five weeks later.

George has been baffled by how little his life has changed since her last visit. He works, he spends time with Lee, he has dinner at the Burrow on weekends. He tries to think about his life as little as possible, tries not to drink too much too often. He's heard from Lee that Angelina's living at her mother's and has left her apprenticeship at the Isle of Man Animal Healer's. Apparently commuting by Floo to and from the Isle and London isn't good for the baby.

Which, he gathers, means that she's planning on keeping it. He has no idea how he feels about that.

He doesn't spend much time trying to figure it out; Angelina hasn't asked how he feels anyway.

She's looking far less... brittle than she did when she first came to his shop to tell him their happy news. She stands hesitantly at the door of the shop while he finishes with a customer - though he has no idea what the hell the customer's talking about and suspects later that he gave him Swan Sweeties instead of Canary Creams, and charged him a three Knuts instead of three Sickles - and she doesn't look angry as he cautiously draws nearer.

"Can I talk to you in the office?" she asks quietly, and he nods and leads her inside.

The dark blue robes she's wearing show a slight but visible swell over her belly. He looks away.

The morning after they slept together her voice was shaking with grief and regret and disgust at both of them. Five weeks ago her voice was hard and cold. Now it's very quiet.

"I don't know if Lee's told you," she begins, perching on the edge of the squashy purple and marigold yellow chair in the office. "But I'm going to keep the baby."

George swallows hard, and nods. There's a terrifically uncomfortable silence.

"D'you want me to-" he begins, and she shakes her head quickly.

"I'm not here to ask anything of you. Or... or to give you anything, if that's how you think of it." She takes a deep breath. "I got myself into this mess. This is my responsibility. And you and I... I can't have you involved when I don't even know if you're the father. And when we're not together. I just came here because I thought you deserved to know."

Her tone isn't harsh, though the words are. George nods, feeling completely hollow.

"My Mum's going to help me take care of it."

George frowns. From what he's heard, from Fred and Lee and Angelina herself in the first few weeks after the battle, Angelina's mum isn't the most patient woman in the world, has little knowledge of the magical world, and little understanding - or desire to understand - how deeply it wounded Angelina.

"I told her about you," Angelina continues. "I told her we weren't together, and that you were still... still dealing with losing Fred too. And that you weren't ever keen on babies anyway."

He nods. There's another painful silence, broken only by the scratch of an escaped Nosy Niffler at the door, and a sudden high-pitched gibbering followed by an exasperated shout from the shop. He'll have to ask Fr-Ron to move the Chocolate Monkey Bars up higher on the shelf, he thinks vaguely. That's the third kid turned into a Howler Monkey this week.

"All right, then," she says, and stands up, moving to the door.

He suddenly realizes he needs to say something, make something clear. "Erm. Angelina." She turns back. "You. Erm." He swallows again. "If you change your mind..."

He doesn't know what else to say. She knows him. Neither he nor Fred ever had the slightest interest in procreating, not for a few decades at least.

Then again, neither did Angelina.

"If you change your mind, I can try. To help, that is. With the baby. If you need anything, just ask."

She nods, and it's somewhat gratifying that instead of being shocked, it seems she had expected something like this from him.

Which is interesting. He hadn't really expected it of himself.

She's about to leave, but she turns back. "You know..." she begins hesitantly, "I decided to keep it, a few weeks ago. And... I didn't know what to say to you. I thought... I was still angry with you, but then I thought of... of Fred."

He doesn't know what to make of that, so he says nothing.

"Whether I'm carrying your child or his, he would've been so disappointed in me," she says, her voice low. "For... for treating you the way I did. And not just after I found out about the baby. For... turning to you when I really wanted him instead."

George looks away from her, his throat tight. "He would've been disappointed in me too," he says quietly. "Because." He takes a deep breath. "Because I knew that's what you were doing. And I let you."

Angelina nods. "I figured you did. I wanted to be angry with you, for taking advantage of me when I'd been drinking, but you had been too. I... I shouldn't have been blaming you. It was both of us."

George nods cautiously.

"So... how are you doing?" she asks him, and he's startled.

"Erm. Fine. Fine, all right. How are you?"

"I've missed you," she says softly.

He gazes at her and doesn't know what to say.

He's not as good with women as he once thought he was, he's realized over the last few months. He remembers when talking to girls seemed so bloody simple. If they were your friends, you flirted with them in a joking fashion and then if they picked up, great, and if they didn't, that was all right too. If you didn't know them, you were more direct, but it was also easy and fun. Not as easy or fun as it seemed to be for Fred, but nothing like how it's been since Fred died.

He doesn't really know how to do so very much in his life, without Fred.

"I've... missed you too," he finally says.

She comes closer and takes his hand in hers. "Is it getting any easier? Being alone?"

He gazes at their clasped hands for a long moment. They touched unselfconsciously so many times in the weeks between the battle and that last disastrous night, comforting each other physically without a second thought. He's missed this. He's missed being touched. Without Fred in his life, nudging him to share a joke, shoving him out of the way when he was in a hurry, clapping him on the back when they got a product right - and without Angelina around to hug or to comfort him, he sometimes feels as though nobody's touched him in years.

He shakes his head. "I don't know. Hard to tell. In a way, yeah, it's easier, but in a way..." he trails off. She's gazing at him seriously, and he doesn't know why but he can talk to her in a way that he can't talk to Lee, or to his family, or anyone else. "I'm getting used to it, to him not being here. But it doesn't feel any better." She nods slowly. "'Sbeen so bloody long since I heard his voice, since I had somebody understand what I meant-" He has to stop. This isn't what he wants to be doing, not when she's only just come back. Not when she's dealing with a lot more than he is. She doesn't comment as a tear slips down his face.

"It's not better for me either," she says softly. "It's not. It feels like everybody thinks if they just say it's all better, it'll be all better, but it's not. And I keep crying..."

"You're pregnant," George says gently. "You're bound to be a little-"

"That's not it, though. I don't think." She puts her hand on her stomach absently. "It's just-" and then a look of surprise steals across her face.

"What is it?"

"It's..." she looks at him, suddenly shy. "D'you want to feel? The midwitch says it's a little early, but..."

"Feel what? The baby?" He's caught flat-footed. "Oh. Erm. Yeah, all right." He tentatively puts his hand where she shows him on the bulge at her middle, feeling a bit squeamish, and something ripples under his palm. His eyebrows go up. "Was that..."

"Yeah." She smiles, a soft, private smile, and his heart constricts a little.

Whether it's his or Fred's doesn't matter. What matters is that there's life, right under Angelina's robes, growing, not aware that it's coming into a world that's been full of sorrow and fear for so long.