A Bit Unhealthy

Author's Note: Also: Thank you thank you to tree00faery and breve for your betahood!

ooo000ooo

How do you walk back into the life of your child after trying to abandon him? How do you walk back into the life of one of your closest friends after hurting him, badly, far too many times?

Angelina's shaking as she walks up to the Leaky Cauldron. She's not even sure whether she'll be able to go through with this or if she'll chicken out at the last minute.

The door opens, and her breath catches in her throat. There's George, sitting at a side table with Freddie on his lap, talking to him softly and holding a toy Puff, a cup of tea on the table a safe distance away from the baby. Freddie makes a high-pitched gleeful sound and grabs the Puff. George smiles, and Freddie smiles back at him.

Freddie has two tiny, tiny little white teeth, bottom front, and his entire face looks different. Angelina steps back and lets the Leaky's door close again. She's missed her son's first teeth. He's sitting up fairly well in George's arms, and holding his neck steady. His hair is longer, and he reached for the Puff George was holding and grasped it on the first try, and Angelina has missed so much that she'll never have back.

And now is not the time to collapse again, from guilt, or anger, or regret, or whatever. Yes, she made a mistake, and Lee was right, it's one that she will regret for the rest of her life. But she's not depressed any more, she's not being suffocated by her mother's poisonous prejudice, she does not have to let herself be helplessly carried along by her feelings or by whatever life happens to do to her.

She went down low, very low, in the hospital. But she somehow struggled back to her feet, and got well enough that the doctors gently pushed her to leave the hospital. She was able to walk out of her mother's house, able to get back in touch with her wizarding friends, and eventually even able to contact Lee. She's a strong person, and she can figure out what to do about the mess she landed them all in. She can make things better for Freddie, she can try to atone for what she's done wrong, and she can bloody well deal with George Weasley as a human being and not as a repository for all of her feelings, positive and negative, for his twin.

She braces herself and opens the door again, making herself walk steadily towards George and Freddie.

"Hello, George," she says, and George looks up.

Oh God, she's forgotten how much like Fred he is. And how heartbreaking it is that he isn't Fred. And how painful it is to see that shuttered, defensive look on Fred's face, as though Fred is there, part of him anyway, disappointed in Angelina, and showing it through his twin.

And she's doing it again, damn it. Fred isn't here.

"Have you been waiting for long?" she asks, and it's such an inane and ridiculous thing to say.

"No, not really," says George, motioning her to the chair across from him and Freddie.

Freddie's so big. It's like he's a completely different child. She's thought about him constantly, has missed him with a physical ache, but the baby she left behind is gone forever and this one has taken his place. And yet, as the seconds slip by she can feel herself adjusting and finding her son in the contours of this child's face and in his dark eyes, and then he's hers, he's her little boy again.

George clears his throat. "D'you want to hold him?" he asks quietly, and Angelina hoped so much that she wouldn't cry but it's impossible not to. She nods, wiping her eyes, and George stands and puts Freddie in her lap, and thank God Freddie doesn't seem to mind that she's sobbing uncontrollably now. He just looks at her curiously; no memory of her at all, apparently. No recognition. Of course, how could there be?

She buries her face in his curly hair and tries to bring her sobs under control. This isn't how she wanted to do this. George waits patiently, and when she's able to control herself he hands her a handkerchief. She wipes at her face and nose and clears her throat.

"I - I'm sorry," she stammers, and everything else she'd planned on saying to elaborate what she means by that goes out the window.

George nods. "It's all right."

"Thank you," she says, and can't finish that either before her throat closes up.

He understands that too. "You're welcome," he says.

"You're so big now," she says shakily to Freddie, and Freddie pats her face curiously. He looks over at George and smiles, his tiny teeth startlingly white in his dark face.

She takes a few more minutes to settle herself, talking softly to Freddie, telling him how much she missed him. Getting to know her son again. The child whom she would have lost forever if she'd had her way and George had failed to convince the Agency to give him a chance.

When she's finally fairly sure she can speak without crying she looks back at George. "Thank you," she says again.

He nods. "So, you're back," he says.

"Yeah." She takes a deep breath. "I'm back. I, erm, I was in the hospital for a long time - three weeks, actually. Then I was an outpatient. Lived at my Mum's. Another two weeks."

George nods.

"It took a while, even after the anti-depressants started to work properly. I... it took a while to decide what to do."

"What did you decide?"

"I moved out of my mother's house, for one," Angelina says grimly.

George nods but seems to understand her desire to not visit that topic right now. Or maybe he doesn't care to know. "Where are you living now?" he asks.

It's like they're strangers. George isn't being deliberately cold but he's so incredibly guarded, and how can she possibly blame him?

"I've been staying with friends, mostly, though right now I'm house-sitting an empty place in Hogsmeade. It's temporary, though. I, erm, I'm looking for a place nearby."

George nods.

"I'm also, erm, looking for work."

He nods again, and she has no idea what he's thinking.

They've been friends since they were eleven years old. They lived together and went to class together for almost seven years. They were teammates. He's the twin brother of the love of her life, they wept together next to his body, they relied on each other through the first hellish weeks after his death, they were lovers - of a sort - for months, he helped her bring a child into the world... and she can't read a thing from him right now. It's as if they're complete strangers. And she has nobody to blame for that but herself.

Don't give in to despair, she reminds herself. The only way through this is to just get through it.

"I'm not sure what to do, though. Whether to go back to the Animal Healer's apprenticeship, or find a job here, or not get a job at all." His eyebrows go up slightly. "It all depends on you," she says carefully. "I don't know if Lee told you or not, but I really will do whatever you want. I want to be part of Freddie's life again, but." She swallows. "I've called the shots so far and it's been a disaster."

She looks down, unable to maintain eye contact, and touches Freddie's hair again. There's a long silence, broken only by Freddie's soft coos.

George clears his throat. "To be honest I don't know what I want right now either."

Angelina looks up. He's looking out the window, absently stirring his tea.

"Looks like we've got a lot to talk about, don't we?" says George quietly.

ooo000ooo

He's still not got a clue what he wants, George realizes that night as he sits on his bed, the baby cradled in the crook of his left arm and taking his bedtime bottle.

It's not that he necessarily wants to keep doing this baby care thing full time. In fact, he doesn't. His life right now is endlessly frustrating and often thankless; there's no admiring customers laughing at his jokes or products, nobody even around to talk to a lot of the time - at least, nobody who can talk back. Changing nappies gets very old very fast, and there are really only so many times anyone can sing Babbity Rabbity Baby Bat before starting to pray for his own death.

But he's become used to having the baby in his life. Having a constant companion again.

There's no comparing a small, helpless, often cranky, wet and messy baby with the brother and best friend who filled George's world with laughter and fun and adventure. He hates the baby's name because he's not Fred, damn it, and no amount of wishing will make him Fred. But it still feels good, having someone in his life who's always there. Never being alone for more than a couple of hours at a time.

The baby's swallows are changing from frequent deep gulps to small, slow ones, and he shifts slightly in George's arms. His eyes blink open and he gazes at George for a moment before closing them again with a contented sigh. He'll probably feed a little more and then pop the bottle out of his mouth and turn his face towards George. George waits a few minutes, until the swallows are infrequent, before removing the bottle and sitting up, shifting the baby onto the shoulder that has the spit-up blanket over it. The baby gives an annoyed grunt but George pats his small back firmly until he hears a few burps and feels his belly settle. He's tried to explain it to Lee a few times, but it seems it's something you can really only learn to read through doing it a few dozen times yourself.

He shifts the baby back down and gives him back the bottle. He sits back against the headboard again and reflects that it's a good thing the baby's cute, because his arm is starting to get tired and this routine of feeding and burping and sitting around with a moist blanket on his shoulder is not exactly the lifestyle he ever imagined he'd be living at this point in his life.

It feels good to be needed, to be vitally important to somebody. But when he thinks about the intense devotion that his parents feel for him and his siblings, he's fairly sure he doesn't feel that towards the baby. Because despite everything, right now having Angelina walk back into their life feels a bit like freedom: freedom to have his own life back - what's left of it, anyway - to be free of constant demands and drudgery such as what he's doing right now.

But it also means letting go of the baby, at least a bit, and George really doesn't know how he feels about that. The baby's snuggling into the crook of his arm and barely moving his jaw as he drinks, one small hand resting warmly on George's hand over the bottle, eyes closed, trusting in George to keep him safe and happy and it all feels so different from anything George has ever felt before. When the baby reaches out for him, smiles at his presence, clings to him - when George is holding him close, nuzzling his cheek, soothing him, making him smile, it feels somehow more rewarding than just about anything else in his life right now. The closest he's ever felt to this possessive protectiveness is what he felt for Ron and Ginny when they were smaller. They were pests, sure, but they were his and Fred's pests. Much as they teased Ron and Ginny, pranked them, and avoided them when they were too little to be much fun, the panic and worried helplessness they felt when Ginny or Ron were hurt or in danger - from possessed diaries, poison mead, or Death Eaters within and without Hogwarts - were agonizing. Their little brother and sister, threatened by something more serious than older brothers' pranks, felt like an attack on him and Fred.

Regardless of who sired him, the tiny being now lying warm and peaceful in George's arms is his. More so than Ron and Ginny ever were. The connection George feels towards him, which started in confusion and guilt and panic and maybe even a little anti-Muggle prejudice, has become much more. He doesn't want Angelina to take that away or even lessen it.

The anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts is two days from now. Almost a year since he lost the most important person in his life. He doesn't want to lose anyone, ever again.

... and all this musing is really pretty pointless. He's not going to figure this out watching the baby's eyelids flicker as he dreams. He carefully gets up and puts the baby in his crib. The baby stirs, his small eyebrows drawing together, and George rubs a soothing hand along his back until he's still and relaxed again.

He lies down and wishes with all his heart that Fred was here to talk to, to help George untangle in even a small way all the conflicting ideas and emotions churning around. Or, more likely, rattle off a series of tasteless jokes about both situations and laugh him into a solution, or at least into temporary mental peace. Problem is, he can't even imagine what Fred would say about any of this.

He tries to imagine Fred joking about him and Angelina getting themselves into this mess, and all he gets is an image of the expression Fred wore when he thought of Percy during his estrangement from the family - but this time directed at George.

George shudders.

Something about the baby, then; maybe about the indignity of having been replaced as George's constant companion by a person who drools.

... yeah, nothing there either. George decides to go to sleep instead.

That night, he dreams of Angelina. He wakes up with a groan on his lips and his sheets damp with sweat, an inch away from coming. For a moment he's completely disoriented - Angelina was just there, she was holding him close and tightening around him, lip caught between her teeth as she ground herself against him - and then he's alone in the bed and panting and hard and he automatically checks on the baby, sleeping peacefully in his crib next to the bed.

He slips one hand under the covers and bites down hard on the other, stifling himself as he strokes hard and fast. This is nothing to savor, nothing to draw out - just scratch the itch and get it over with. He shudders, spilling himself onto his stomach, gasping for breath, shaking, feeling the ache subside.

Oh fuck no shit bugger what the hell was that?

He's supposed to be done with this. He and Angelina haven't slept together since before Christmas. Besides, one of the few advantages to being tired from continuous baby care is a complete lack of libido. He doesn't want to be visited by Angelina in his dreams. He's not supposed to want her, should never have had her in the first place - but there she is again.

He mutters a cleaning spell, slips out of bed and goes to the kitchen for a glass of water. Lee's at the table, going over what looks like interview notes.

"You all right?" asks Lee.

"Yeah," he says, pouring himself a glass.

"The baby?"

"Fine, sleeping."

"Thought you'd be asleep too," says Lee, glancing at the clock.

"I was." He takes a swallow of cool water.

"What happened?"

"Bad dream."

Wrong thing to say, as Lee quickly looks up worriedly. They've both had their share of bad dreams this year. Lee studies him for a moment and then a small smile quirks the side of his mouth. "That's not a bad dream blush on your face, mate," he says, amused. "Don't try to lie to a bloke who slept in the same room as you and Fred for seven years."

George drains the glass and turns to go back to bed.

"George?" Lee says uncertainly.

George doesn't turn around. "It was about Angelina," he says curtly.

"Fuck," he hears Lee mutter as the door closes behind him.

ooo000ooo

The Minister has declared today a day of mourning. Only St. Mungo's and a few other emergency services are open; most shops and Ministry offices are closed. Hogwarts has been opened to the public for the day. George and Angelina bring Freddie to the memorial service, which takes place in the same place Dumbledore's funeral was held.

The service is simple. There are no long flowery speeches about bravery or sacrifice or shining new futures, no euphemisms. Kingsley speaks briefly of remembering those who suffered and died resisting Voldemort's second rising. Then the names of all those who died at Hogwarts are read out in chronological order, starting with Cedric Diggory and Albus Dumbledore and ending with Colin Creevey, though of course it's hard to tell who died when during the final battle. Angelina figures Colin was probably chosen to be named last because of his age, or because he was Muggle-born, or both. There's been a fair bit of symbolism going on lately in the wizarding world.

In the weeks leading up to the memorial, every person who was part of the resistance was sent a Phoenix pin whether they were in the Order or not, and everyone who was at the final battle received a Hogwarts castle pin. Apparently it was all done through the Goblet of Fire, to prevent unscrupulous people claiming war hero status falsely, though Angelina has no idea how they spelled the Goblet to accomplish that. Angelina and George are both wearing their pins tucked into their clothing, as are all of the Weasleys, Harry, Hermione, and Lee. As far as Angelina knows, none of them discussed doing so beforehand.

Near the Forbidden Forest there is now a memorial wall, far too long, adorned with still Muggle photographs of those who died here, each photograph accompanied by a name and two dates. Angelina's suddenly reminded of a hidden niche Fred and George had at Wheezes, filled with candles representing those who were dead or missing or in danger because of the war. She doubts the Death Eaters found it when they broke in, and wonders what George did with it.

Angelina and George slowly walk the length of the wall, among the other people at the service. They finally stop at Fred's photograph. Fred's smiling, wearing a WWW robe, and looking off to the side - most probably at George.

"That's Fred. That's who you were named for," says George softly to Freddie, whose eyebrows draw together in puzzlement. He looks from the picture to George and back, his dark eyes wide and his mouth in a small o.

"Yeah, I do look like him," says George, chuckling. "That's not me, though."

Freddie looks from the picture to George again, and then bursts out laughing, and Angelina's breath stops in her throat. She's never heard him laugh before.

He sounds like Fred.

Not really, of course - not at all, actually, the pitch is all wrong, but there's somehow something very Fred-like about his laughter. He keeps looking from the picture to George, and who knows why, but he seems to find it hilarious.

George has gone a little pale. "What is it?" Angelina asks.

George shakes his head. "Never heard him laugh before. He's a serious little kid." George's voice is strained, and Angelina's throat is tight too, and it's such a bizarre reaction to their child's laughter.

Angelina swallows and tightens her hold on Freddie, and George steps closer. Freddie turns and holds his arms out to George, having become used to being passed from person to person, but George puts an arm around both of them instead.

They're standing as if they're a family, Angelina suddenly realizes as she leans back against George, gazing at Fred's photograph. It feels oddly natural. As if they're just a couple showing their son his uncle and namesake, and if he were older they'd probably be telling him stories.

And if that was really the way things were, they'd be telling each other stories of Fred right now. They haven't, not for a long time.

"You know, I wish I could still talk to you about Fred," Angelina says hesitantly.

George tenses up slightly, but says only, "Why can't you?"

Now she's uncomfortable.

"Because we were sleeping together?" he says quietly, and doesn't need to add and you were pretending I was him?

They're silent for a long time. "Talk about him all you like," he says softly. "I miss him too."

Angelina nods, then blinks as a bright light goes off in her eyes. A Prophet photographer nods at them and moves down the line to take pictures of other mourners.

Lee joins them. Others have already been here; there are a few letters and cards left propped up under Fred's picture, and someone, probably Ginny, left a sunflower. "He would've hated to have people crying over him," Lee comments, chuckling a bit as he wipes his eyes. "Can you picture him if he saw us right now? He'd take the mickey out of all of us."

George smiles. "Nah, he always knew you were a huge girl's blouse."

Freddie squeals and reaches out for Lee's dreadlocks. Lee smiles and leans closer and Freddie makes a happy cooing sound as he pulls on Lee's hair. Then there's a bit of a commotion over at the small plaque near where Hagrid's hut used to be, and they all turn to take a look. Fleur is visibly glowing - silvery light pulsing around her and everything, which is a bit scary - and Bill looks somewhat stunned.

"Is it time?" asks George's mum.

Fleur gives Bill a brilliant smile and Bill gulps, nodding.

"All right then, you lot, let's get going," says Mrs. Weasley, and the great mass of Weasleys moves towards Fleur and Bill. Fleur's smile dims a bit, and then she glances back at Bill and seems to dismiss everything else from her mind. She reaches out to take his hand, beaming at him and they move towards the castle; Apparition and Floo travel aren't terribly advisable for women about to go into labour, and Fleur and Bill had alerted McGonagall that Fleur would in all likelihood go into labour right here. It seems fitting, somehow, that one year after losing one member of the family at this castle, another should be born in the very same place.

Fleur is smiling at Bill and she's never looked more beautiful. It's not just a Veela thing, Angelina realizes: this is what it's like when you know you're about to give birth to your child with its father by your side - its father whom you adore, and want to spend your life with. Angelina's a bit dismayed at the longing and bitterness in her thoughts.

She pushes those thoughts away and turns to George. "Do you want to take Freddie, or do you want me to keep him out here?"

George shakes his head. "No, you bring him in."

Angelina shakes her head. "No, I can't, I'm not really part of..."

George shrugs. "You don't have to if you don't want to. But he should meet his cousin and you were planning on spending the day with him."

Angelina nods, feeling horribly uncertain, but follows George. It's not all Weasleys, as Harry, Hermione and Lee are also in the group, but she still feels completely out of place. She sees the Prophet reporter snap a few pictures of the group heading inside, and asking questions of the other attendees, his QuickQuill scribbling furiously.

They pass through the Great Hall. One year ago today, Fred lay among fifty other dead in the Great Hall - Colin, Remus Lupin and his wife, Professor Flitwick, so many others. Angelina heard that Madam Pomfrey never recovered from seeing so many of her friends and students wounded and dead, and left her post as soon as a replacement could be found.

Angelina can almost see herself, Fred's family, and Lee, gathered right here, around Fred's body. If she closes her eyes she can see George's gaze meeting hers from across the Great Hall, see him motioning to her to join the family in mourning, feel his arms going around her, his body shaking with sorrow, both of them trying to anchor each other through the worst thing that could've happened to either of them. His pain must have been so much more intense than hers, yet he had thought of her and reached out to her despite it.

She didn't repay him very well. She chances a glance at him. He's very pale, determinedly not looking at the place where he and Percy brought Fred's body as they cross the Great Hall.

They arrive at the hospital wing and Fleur is whisked away by Madam Pomfrey's replacement, Bill by her side. The family gathers together in a waiting area, along with Fleur's parents and a couple of her Veela cousins. The two stunning women approach George and Angelina and coo over Freddie, and one of them gives Angelina a speculative look before leaning closer to George, talking softly to him in accented English. Angelina feels a completely inexplicable stab of jealousy as he laughs at something she says, and she wonders if these women are the Veela cousins Fred once mentioned meeting at Bill's wedding. She glances over at Ginny and Hermione and sees them standing amusingly close to Harry and Ron respectively, sort of blocking them from the Veela. She has a completely irrational urge to do the same to George, but it doesn't look like he's more than politely interested in either of the gorgeous women. One of them even leans close to him and puts a hand on his arm and he doesn't really react much, other than to nod at whatever she's saying.

"Dear," says George's mum, right next to her, and Angelina barely suppresses a startled squeak and feels completely intimidated. Molly Weasley could be terrifying even before she killed Bellatrix Lestrange, and considering how Angelina's own mum treated George, with far less cause....

Mrs. Weasley gives her a warm hug instead, leaving her speechless. "Thank you for coming back, dear," she says. "Freddie needed his mum." She steps back slightly and studies Angelina for a moment. "You look so much better. How are you feeling?"

Angelina's suddenly reminded why, despite all the disagreements between Fred and George and their mother, despite all the pressure she put on them to be who she wanted them to be instead of who they were, they loved her so much. Why they wore her awful jumpers with pride. Why they got themselves banned from Quidditch when that little Malfoy snot insulted her.

"I - I'm all right," she says, steadying her voice as much as she can. "And I'm glad George... I mean, I'm so grateful to him, for... for everything."

Mrs. Weasley smiles. "I think it was good for him, having Freddie these months. Not that it was easy, but he did well. I'm so proud of him." She nods firmly. "And you two will work things out. You've both got Freddie's best interests at heart."

It's disorienting. After what she did, she expected so much more hostility. The Weasleys are nothing if not strong-willed and opinionated, and she had braced herself for scorn at least, if not outright hatred. But except for Percy, who's fairly guarded by nature, and Ginny, who is frankly cold towards her, they all seem to be making an effort to include her in the family.

It's obvious Freddie has been well-cared for in Angelina's absence. He smiles at every family member who picks him up, though he looks a little suspicious of Fleur's family. And all the Weasleys are comfortable with him, all seem to know what they're doing - from Charlie, who sings him a rather questionable song about a dragon, a banshee and a Red Cap, to Ginny, who feeds and then burps him with practiced ease. Angelina frowns briefly. Aren't she and Hermione in school, still? How did they get so familiar with baby care?

With stunning speed, Fleur's labour is done and Bill comes out, looking gobsmacked but happy. Apparently Fleur has agreed to allow everyone to see the new baby. As they all troop in, Angelina can't help but feel jealous. She pushed for hours and hours, and probably looked an absolute fright by the time Freddie finally appeared. Fleur looks like she's undergone some strenuous activity - and after months of living in the Muggle world Angelina's first thought is that she looks like one of these skinny bints on aerobics shows on the telly - but she's still glowing. And nestled in her arms is a perfect, dainty little blond princess.

"That's your cousin Victoire," says George to Freddie. Freddie takes one look at the baby and starts to laugh again, and after a startled moment, the rest of the family laughs too. His laughter is infectious.

Too soon, it's time to go. Fleur gives Bill a meaningful look and a nod, and Bill immediately starts to herd everyone out.

It's been a hell of a day; Freddie laughed today for the first time ever - twice, and Victoire Weasley was born, three floors away from where her uncle died exactly one year ago today.

"All right, then," Angelina says, and approaches George. "I suppose it's time to go." She holds out her arms for Freddie and George blinks, then swallows hard and nods and hands him over.

Angelina takes Freddie into her arms and then pauses. She's been looking forward to having him back with her for days, has set up a crib and other baby necessities in her Hogsmeade house and pictured Freddie in there and ached to have him close again... but suddenly the idea of taking him from George today, of all days, sounds insane.

"Actually, why don't I come for him tomorrow instead?" she says.

George blinks. "What? No, it's all right, you can - we agreed--"

Angelina shakes her head, transferring him back to George. "No, we weren't thinking. It's the anniversary of the Battle, and your brother's a new dad. Freddie should be with you tonight. I'll take him tomorrow."

The gratitude and relief in George's eyes is more than she can face, and she kisses the top of Freddie's head. "I'll see you tomorrow."

She leaves before she has a chance to change her mind.

ooo000ooo

A few days later, George and Angelina have tentatively worked things out. George is going back to work part-time. Angelina's going to find a place close to his flat and try to get part-time work involving animals in order to try for another apprenticeship closer to home. They're both going to take Freddie for a part of every day, and he'll spend alternate weeks sleeping at George's and Angelina's flats, once she has a decent place to live. It's all a little vague, but it helps to know that George will be able to adapt his schedule to whatever works, and that he has the means to help her out for the first little while as she's getting herself sorted out.

She's not going to do anything to jeopardize that.

They spend a bit of time together and he's polite but reserved. Although the distance between them is intensely painful, she understands that it has to be this way.

She's getting tired of living at friends' houses, and when the new flat on Diagon comes up it's like a dream come true. It's less than a ten minute walk from George's place. The problem is, it's not available right away. And she's got nowhere to go for the two weeks that she has to wait.

She can stay at his place, says George. She can take his room and he'll be at The Burrow. He doesn't look at her when he proposes it.

It would make far more sense for her to stay at George's place with him, sleeping in Lee's room, as Lee is currently on assignment in Thailand and expects to be there for at least three more weeks. That's not what George has suggested, though, and so Angelina doesn't suggest it either.

ooo000ooo

George gazes at the new small portrait on his wall. It's one of two that Angelina had made using the photograph which appeared in The Prophet a few weeks ago, of the three - well, four - of them at the memorial. George has his arm around her, they're both gazing at Fred's picture, and the baby is giggling, looking from Fred's picture to George and back. He can't help thinking how much they look like a normal family. And also how disturbing it is to realize that he doesn't have any pictures of the baby. Mum and Dad do, but for some reason it's never occurred to George to take some pictures himself. He makes a mental note to ask Mum for some next time he's at The Burrow.

"Thank you," Angelina says softly, glancing down at the baby, lying in her arms. She's just nursed him down to sleep - first time she's been able to do that, as the spells to bring back a mother's milk take a while to work properly.

"For what?"

"For taking care of him when I couldn't. For not giving up on him." She pauses. "Or me."

George gazes at the baby sleeping at her breast, his small jaw occasionally still making nursing motions in his sleep and he doesn't really know what to say, but happily Lee is there and answers for him. "You know he would've done a lot more to help if you'd asked earlier," Lee says, and his voice is remarkably blame-free, considering what he thought of Angelina going to the Magical Child Agency at the time. "Bloody hell, I would've done a lot more. You just had to ask."

"I know that now." Angelina shakes her head. "And I can't... to be honest, I can't really understand why I couldn't see that at the time either. It just... everything had narrowed down to no options. And Mum kept telling me not to be selfish; not to deprive Freddie of a stable home." She meets George's gaze. "It honestly didn't occur to me that you could help, and even after you said you could, it felt like that wasn't a viable choice." She pauses. "I'm glad it did to you."

"Your mother... she's..." Lee trails off.

George can't help thinking of her words when he and Ginny went to get the baby. "She was just trying to protect Angelina," he says, and Lee gapes at him in disbelief. Lee can't understand, George realizes. Not until he has a child of his own.

Before Lee can say anything the Floo flares up and a witch's head appears in the fire. "Jordan! They're back!"

Lee blinks, then sits up. "You mean--"

"Get your arse back here," the witch says, and disappears.

"Death Eater trial verdicts," Lee says. "Damn." He glances from Angelina to George, then at the clock, clearly torn.

"Go on," says George.

"I--"

"Go do your bloody job, Jordan. I don't slave away at the shop day after day for you to sponge off me on rent."

Lee grins. "Fair enough," he says, pulls on his cloak and goes to the Floo.

"Was your mum right then, about the Muggle hospital?" George asks after Lee has gone.

"Yeah," Angelina nods. "I didn't think so, at the time. I mean, I knew things were bad and I wasn't coping well, but it all felt like there was no way through it so I didn't really see much point in going into a hospital. Especially since wizarding hospitals... well for mental things you don't go to St. Mungo's to get better, do you? You go there to live out your life where you won't hurt yourself or anybody else. It's one place where Muggles are far ahead of us."

George nods thoughtfully. "How was it? At the hospital?"

"Bad," says Angelina. She hesitates for another moment and looks down at the baby. "It got so bad... I wanted to die."

George looks up at her sharply. "Really?"

"Suicide watch and everything. It's so strange to think of that now," she muses. "Not... not that everything is wonderful now. I still... you know, I wonder what I've done with my life, and I still worry about Freddie, and being able to be a good mother to him, and I still... still miss Fred." She says his name carefully, like she's not sure she's allowed. "But feeling the way I did in the hospital... I don't. Not any more. It's scary to know how much I wanted to die, though. How close I came."

She looks at him hesitantly, and he knows what she wants to ask before she asks it. "You never did?" she says quietly. "Think of ending it?"

He looks away from her. "I can't... to be honest I'm not sure." She makes an inquiring noise. "Mostly didn't dare to let myself think about it," he says slowly. "Too much of a coward." Whenever his thoughts veered in that direction he just distracted himself, drank, tested out some products, just refused to go there. "Although... I think I did, once. But I wasn't really... I don't remember too much about it."

"Were you drunk?"

"No, I was working in the lab and I got an accidental dose of a potion I was working on. I... it kind of stopped higher brain function. Ron and Percy had a time dealing with me; probably would've destroyed the entire lab if they hadn't been there." He doesn't remember a lot of it, but remembers wanting to join Fred, wherever he was, and remembers quite a lot of fury and sobbing and clinging to Ron and waking up the next day with Ron and Percy looking pale and looking everywhere but at him. He doesn't know what, as a four-year-old, he was able to articulate, other than pain and loneliness and a need to just stop hurting, no matter what it took. "I'm not sure, though. I don't remember it clearly enough, and I didn't want to ask Ron or Percy what I said."

Angelina sighs. "Well, you're braver than I am."

He chuckles and shakes his head. "Don't think so. Just stubborn."

"You were dealing with so much more than I was."

"I didn't have pregnancy hormones, or a mum who was making things more difficult," he points out.

She shakes her head and he can tell she's near tears. He hesitates briefly, then draws nearer and puts an arm around her, and she leans her head against his shoulder with a sigh. He hopes it's comforting to her and supposes it should be comforting to him too, but it's really not. Not when he wants, so much, to find comfort in her the way he used to. Which is not really an option.

The baby's fully asleep now, and George helps Angelina bundle him up and get ready to take him back to her own flat. He offers to walk her, but it's not far away and she's a little reticent and it's probably best to back off. This delicate balance they've got going is so difficult some days.

The flat feels echoingly empty once they're gone. They're just down the street, and he'll see the baby again tomorrow, but even though he's done this a few times now and is genuinely appreciative of the chance to sleep through the night once more, it's still wrenching. He can't fathom how Angelina dealt with saying goodbye to their child for what she thought would be forever.

Maybe there's something to this Muggle business with counseling and talking things out. Obviously it helped Angelina. There's so much he can't talk about to anyone, not even Lee. He'd talk to Angelina, but of course she's at the centre of a lot of it, and... and he doesn't just want to talk with her.

He's still not sure why he wants so much more from her than he should, now, after so many years of being her friend without feeling the slightest attraction to her. Was it because they needed each other so much after Fred died? Because she was a link to Fred? Or just because she's the only person he's ever had sex with? He's heard that runespoors apparently attach themselves to the first person who feeds them, and stay with that person for life. He can only hope like hell it's not the same with sex, for him.

Maybe it's because she's the only one who can give him a break from being a singleton, because he can be Fred around her, as he can't with anyone else. He very much hopes that's not it, because he's not Fred. His life as a twin is over.

He'd really hoped that dream about her the day he first saw her again was a fluke. No such luck. They're not spending a lot of time together; just passing the kid back and forth, occasionally having a meal together. But that's partly due to the fact that ever since she came back, looking like herself again, looking like the girl who was in the DA with them, the girl who Captained a Quidditch team with three new players - one of them an abysmal Keeper - into winning the Quidditch Cup, ever since they started sharing the baby and falling into a 'couple' situation all the time... he wants her. Badly.

For months now, she's been the only woman he's thought of, when he's thought of women at all. There's a bird at Flourish and Blott's that's not bad-looking, and he's made himself fantasize about her a few times while wanking, but the woman he thinks of without meaning to, the woman he dreams of, is always Angelina. Even the Veela cousins from Bill's wedding - Claudine, who went with Fred into a darkened room, and Collette, who went with George - had no effect on him whatsoever when they met at Victoire's birth.

It's ridiculous. Angelina's a good-looking girl, yes, but she's treated him like shit. And she's severely messed up, not that he has any right to cast aspersions on anybody else's mental health.

He's angry at Fred fairly often now. Fred asked him to take care of the girl he loved, and then fucking well buggered off. Fred didn't bother to think that maybe it would be difficult for George to do that. That maybe it might be tough to get over his own twin's death, and that maybe asking George to do anything other than not slit his own wrists might be a little unfair. Because the girl Fred asked him to take care of became a serious mental case, and so did George, and they fed off each other, and they're still doing it. He still wants her, every time he's with her he wants her, and it's ridiculous and pathetic and sometimes he wishes Fred were back just so he could hex him.

"Someday you'll fall in love and I'll take the mickey out of you," Fred said to him once. Well, he hasn't fallen in love by any stretch of the imagination, but if Fred were here he'd be taking the mickey out of him for sure.

He turns over in bed, uncomfortably aware of the erection pressing into the bed under him. He tries to ignore it and hope it'll just go away for a few minutes before giving up.

He turns onto his back, reaching down, closing his eyes. He's too bloody tired to try to come up with a suitable fantasy about a suitable girl - that new receptionist at the Apothecary's, or Collette the Veela, or the tall Asian witch with the very red lipstick who came in this morning to buy Bursting Bustier Burritos. He just thinks of Angelina instead. Thinks of her fingers caressing his skin, her lips touching his. He pictures her hand where his is right now, imagines her tongue and teeth exploring the side of his neck, her legs wrapping around him...

The images build quickly, rushing at him now that he's not actively trying to keep them at bay. He doesn't have to be quiet, there's nobody home. He's panting now, straining to come, to images of Angelina's neck arching back, to sounds of her sighing, gasping, crying out, the feel of her gripping him tightly, the taste of her mouth, the scent of her hair, smooth dark silkiness of her skin under his, her breasts rounded and soft and--

He gasps, back arching off the bed as he finally empties himself with a groan.

Tears shouldn't be seeping from under his eyelids, he thinks vaguely. Not right after coming. But the second the rush of orgasm is over this all feels so fucking lonely, so fucking empty, and not just due to the absence of a woman in his bed. Totally empty. No twin, no best mate, no baby, no girl, just him, and he's just not enough.

"Mate, if you're crying after wanking, you've done something seriously wrong," he can almost hear Fred saying, and he laughs, a bit breathlessly, through his tears, but even that doesn't cheer him up because he hasn't actually done anything seriously wrong - not wrong enough to merit this kind of misery, anyway - and yet here he is.

He buries his face in his pillow and just lets the sorrow wash over and take him. What the hell, it's not as though there's anybody around to care whether he gives in to it or not.

The tears run out eventually and now he's just knackered and feeling about as low as he can. This is exactly the kind of state he works bloody hard to avoid, because willpower can only do so much to keep him from going down the path Angelina was talking about just a little while ago and wondering how bad would it be, really, if he just checked out. And wouldn't it be nice to not feel like half a person any more, not feel like there's no point to anything, not feel like the best part of him has already been rotting in a grave for over a year, and he might as well let the rest of him join in the fun of just not dealing with this shit any more...

He rubs his face across his pillow, sits up, mutters a cleaning spell, and hauls himself upright, his breath still coming in shuddering gasps. There's Firewhiskey in the kitchen and it's a perfect night to indulge. And by 'indulge' he means get so fucking drunk he can't remember his own name, hopefully pass out and have absolutely no memory of any of this tomorrow.

He's downing his third shot when Lee comes home. Lee stops short at the kitchen door, his eyes going wide. "Merlin. Are you all right?"

George turns away. "Yeah," he says, his voice hoarse. He rubs a hand across his face. Must look like absolute shit.

"I - I'm sorry," Lee begins, "the story ran late--"

"Yeah, no worries," George manages to say. "Thought you'd be out all night."

"George." Lee comes closer and takes the glass out of his hand. "What the hell happened? Did... you didn't--"

George suddenly gets what Lee doesn't want to ask and laughs, startling Lee. "Oh fuck, no, Merlin, no we didn't do anything. I was a perfect gentleman. Aren't you proud of me?" Lee frowns and George realizes he's probably slurring. "Helped her get the baby settled, offered to walk her home, that's it, that's all." He takes his glass back. "What happened at the trials?"

Lee blinks. "All guilty as charged except for Lucius bloody Malfoy, don't know what else, don't care. Left MacIntosh to finish the coverage."

"Why?"

"I was worried about you," Lee says bluntly. "Told myself I was an idiot and you're doing perfectly fine but I couldn't concentrate." He narrows his eyes. "Not such an idiot after all."

George blows out his breath. "Right, then, if you're gonna insist on playing babysitter for me, let's go out."

Lee frowns. "Out? Out where?"

"Dunno. Get drunk. Maybe pull some bird or something. Whatever it is single blokes do around here."

"Think you've had enough to drink already," Lee begins, then stops and shakes his head. "Right. No. Never mind, let's go." Lee pulls his cloak back on and they head out.

ooo000ooo

Angelina's laughing at something Fred's saying, although for a moment he looks serious. He's normally so full of joy and laughter. And he wants her, she can tell - she's come to his aunt's house and Auntie's a little scandalized but the rest of the Weasleys are ridiculously happy to see somebody, after weeks cooped up on their own. Fred grins at her and gives her a tour of the mansion, which doesn't seem so big once Angelina understands that part of it has been transformed into Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

She's so glad to be with him, and he pulls her into an empty room and any doubts she had about whether he wants her or not are erased when he pulls her close as soon as the door shuts behind them, letting her feel how he's fully hard before they've even touched each other. They're grabbing as much time and passion as they can, laughter punctuating their heated snogging and groping, but something tells her there's something amiss - more so than just the fact that they're both pretty much under a death sentence if the Death Eaters find them - and she pulls back to see what's wrong, why he's stopped kissing her and then she sees the place where his ear ought to be--

She wakes up gasping.

She covers her face as reality crashes upon her again. Bloody Fred-dreams. Whatever happens during the dreams, it's always such a relief to realize that he's alive after all, and this has all just been a terrible nightmare. Which makes waking devastating, every time.

George had quite a few Fred-dreams, those first weeks after the Battle. They talked about them back then, but never became close enough to discuss dreams again, after that first time they slept together. She wonders if this still happens to George. How he deals with it, if it does.

She rubs the sleep from her eyes, profoundly disquieted by the remnants of the dream, and the remnants of arousal. Her skin feels ultra-sensitive, her nerves stretched tight, her stomach fluttering, and she glances around Lee's room, still slightly disoriented. She was nursing Freddie here, she remembers now. He had just fallen asleep, and she thought she'd just rest her eyes for a few moments. George probably took him from her and put him in his crib. George is probably in the kitchen right now, working on something. Nice of him to let her rest; Freddie was up all bloody night last night, and Angelina's knackered.

She lies back, her body still humming a bit from the dream. It was so vivid, until the end, and she closes her eyes, remembering Aunt Muriel's. So joyful, Fred was, despite the wariness and weariness the war had made permanent features of all of them. Despite fear and anger and helplessness, he was so full of life.

George used to be so much like him. She could hardly ever tell them apart when she first met them. It took a few years to notice that Fred tended to talk more, joke more, hurt people more. It's not so difficult to distinguish between them now, and not just because of the blindingly obvious. George is really not much like Fred, not any more. She wonders whether he realizes that; and if so, what he thinks of it.

She hears a soft sound from the living room, and gets up and peeks out.

George is walking Freddie, patting his back gently, and Freddie's fussing a bit but mostly seems to just be awake and not terribly concerned with the lateness of the hour. George is singing to him softly, a song Angelina thinks she's heard before but not sung the way George is singing it.

She frowns. The song sounds really familiar. Something Lee played once; a Muggle song, but not a lullaby... she leans out Lee's door a bit, straining to hear...

Baby poo, baby poo, all I talk about is baby poo

Angelina barely stifles a giggle and George sees her and grins. He puts a finger to his lips and Angelina nods, noiselessly moving into the kitchen so Freddie won't see her and wake up all over again. She gets herself a tea while George continues to walk Freddie. Decides to make George a cup too.

She's still feeling a bit uneasy and on edge from her dream. Thinking and feeling all sorts of things about Fred - and George - that she probably shouldn't. She leans against the magenta kitchen counter and sips her tea, remembering her first time with Fred. He was so eager, so full of wonder. It's etched into her memory: the way he'd cried out in delight, the way he moaned, the way he smiled at her, almost shyly, as they did things together he'd never done before...

The contrast between Fred's first time and George's is heartbreaking, so she prefers to not think about it. Besides, thinking about George that way... yeah, not a good idea. Whatever feelings she may still have towards him. Whatever feelings he may have towards her, whatever attraction she thinks she senses in him sometimes.

Sex with Fred was exciting and thrilling. Sex with George was complex and desperate and an utter mindfuck, for both of them. It felt like disloyalty to Fred, in a weird and probably very twisted way, to think of George while she was having sex with him. Like if she was thinking of George, instead of imagining him as Fred, that invalidated what she had felt for Fred. Which... if that wasn't insane, she didn't know what was. Treating a living friend and lover like shit, out of misplaced loyalty to a dead man who would've been horrified by what she was doing.

Freddie's fussing sounds have stopped and George stops singing, and then, after a few minutes, takes Freddie back to his room. He comes back fairly quickly; Freddie must have been tired.

"He didn't want to nurse?" she asks him, forcing down her discomfort.

"No, just a little fussy."

"You know, he doesn't need encouragement," she says, handing George his cup.

"For what?" he asks, leaning against the counter - which looks rather suspiciously spotless right now; she suspects Mrs. Weasley's been - and taking a sip of his tea.

"To make more baby poo."

George sniggers. "Beats singing Babbity Rabbity and Gertrude the Grouchy Griffin for the five millionth time."

"Did Lee give you the idea?"

"Mum, actually. Said Dad used to sing Muggle songs to me and Fred. Which probably explains a great deal."

"Probably," Angelina laughs.

"Speaking of Mum, you know we noticed he's looking at us a lot when we're eating? She says that means he should start getting solids. Came over today and made him about a cellar full of applesauce."

"Applesauce?"

"Mum says it's what she started all of us on."

"So that's what the smell is. I thought you were brewing something."

"Here? With a baby in the flat? Mum would kill me. No, it's baby food. All day she spent here making it. Made carrots and peaches too. Cast a spell on them so they won't rot any time soon."

"I think you're supposed to start them on cereals, though. At least I think that's what my mum said..." Angelina trails off. She hasn't seen Mum since she moved out. George gives her a sympathetic look.

"I wish... at first she was so good with him," she says. "And I know she loved him too, only... I keep wondering if I'm being unreasonable, cutting off all contact. Keep thinking I'd like him to grow up knowing her, but after what happened, I don't know if I can."

George nods and takes a sip of his tea. "Maybe someday you will," he says.

"You never know what might happen in the future, though. What if she died and I had to live with having kept him from getting to know her?" She sighs. "Bad enough he'll never get to meet Fred."

"Bad enough Fred'll never get to meet him," says George.

Angelina nods. "Sometimes I feel like telling Fred how he's doing - holding his head up, starting to sit up - but I can never decide whether it helps or it doesn't. Sometimes I still feel so close to him, somehow..."

"I don't," says George. "He feels farther away every day to me."

Angelina's eyes fill with tears at the subdued tone of his voice, unfortunately at the exact moment that George happens to glance up. He drops his gaze and presses his lips together, irate at himself.

"Bugger. I'm sorry," he says. "I didn't... bloody hell that came out a lot more maudlin than I meant. Just - forget I said that, right?"

Angelina can't speak past the lump in her throat, but draws nearer to him and puts an arm around him, laying her head on his shoulder. "No, I won't. And don't apologize; I was sounding pretty bloody maudlin myself," she points out.

"Yeah, no, it's just... bloody hell, Fred would've laughed at us. I think." He pauses. "Actually I don't have a clue whether he would have or not."

Angelina bites her lip, knowing how hard it is for him to admit that. Once he and Fred were like one person. Now...

"I'm sorry," she says.

He shrugs. She lifts her head from his shoulder and opens her mouth to say something, and his gaze drop down to her lips and then their eyes meet again. She holds her breath as he gently tugs her closer to him, and they both gaze at each other uncertainly for a moment before he bridges the distance from his lips to hers.

She's trembling, afraid to break the moment, still feeling off-balance from her dream, and she doesn't know what's going on inside him, doesn't know why he's kissing her now but hopes he doesn't stop any time soon. It's a sweeter kiss than they've ever shared before, lovely and warm and soft, and she wants so much to pull him closer that she's feeling a bit dizzy.

She can feel when the second thoughts hit him. He slowly ends their kiss, then moves back slightly and takes a deep breath.

"I'm not him, you know," he says, his voice low. "I never was, but I'm really not, now."

So he has noticed. She nods. "I know."

"I don't think you do." He draws back, letting go of her. "And I... I can't do this," he says. "Sorry, I shouldn't have - it's not worth how I feel afterwards."

"Because you're not who I want?" She hesitates for a moment. "What if you were?" she asks quietly.

George's eyes are uncertain, but she can still feel his shields going up. "It's getting late," he says stiffly, looking away from her. "You're picking up the baby tomorrow at noon?"

She puts on her cloak and he walks her to the door. She pauses at the doorway. "You know... I do know you're not Fred." She puts a hand on his arm, struggling to find words to express this in a way he'll understand. He doesn't draw away. "Fred smelled like jasmine and cinnamon and fireworks," she finally says. "You smell like milk and applesauce."

He chuckles slightly. Angelina squeezes his arm, then turns to go.

ooo000ooo

For those interested, lyrics and a download of George's lullabye can be found at:

annafugazzi.livejournal.com/73636.html