Leave Out All the Rest

June

Like a noose around his neck. Like he was hanging and suffocating. Or possibly drowning. Being crushed under a heavy weight. The death similes were endless.

There was bugger-all to do at The Burrow except listen to Mum cry, and try to stay as unobtrusively drunk as possible. At the school he'd been busy enough that he could pretend Fred was also busy working elsewhere, and they'd meet up in a few minutes. Here, there was nothing, nothing but a blank void where more than half of his energy, ideas, and interest in the world disappeared without a ripple.

His family tried to help, tried to draw him out, but it was impossible. Everything inside him felt dried up. He had nothing to say. And even when he did, he didn't want to hear Fred's voice coming out of his own throat.

It was Percy, of all people, who helped the most. Bill was dealing with an acute case of Wife; Charlie tried to be funny and failed so miserably it made George want to hang himself for real; Ron and Ginny didn't know what to do, how to relate to him, and were also busy with their own newly significant others. Percy, on the other hand, seemed to make it his duty to get George the hell out of the house, to have fun somehow, and it was startling enough that George went along with it.

Not to mention, Percy had interesting stories. He'd never given a damn about Percy's stories before, when they were all about marks and Head Boyness and cauldron bottoms, and he and Fred had more interesting things to do. In this weightless, purposeless, humourless grim world he was currently inhabiting, even cauldron thickness was a welcome distraction. And Percy had more than cauldron thickness to talk about; he talked about the shambles the Ministry was in, about his time working there under Umbridge, about finally seeing the light and contacting Aberforth, about the newly freed prisoners from Azkaban. About books George was reading that Percy had already read. Percy had even taken him out to a pub one night, and become rather disgracefully drunk, which was probably one of the funniest things George had seen since the end of the war.

Still. Blank. That's all he felt, most of the time.

Percy couldn't be there all the time, buried in the Ministry's What the Blazes Happened Here post-Voldemort paperwork as he was. George had endless amounts of time with bugger-all to occupy him; even the thought of returning to Wheezes made him ill, so that was right out, and Mum got nervous whenever he was gone for more than an hour. About the only thing he could do was take up reading, but old editions of Witch Weekly were somehow not as thrilling as he would have wished.

A week or so of this and it was Percy to the rescue, again: he brought over some half-decent books and he mentioned how much the Ministry needed help. They were figuring out who needed to be found, and who needed to be punished, what needed to be rebuilt or torn down, and what the bloody hell had happened; they were in dire need of volunteers. Nothing too strenuous, said Percy. Nothing all that interesting, and no obligation if George got bored. Just something to keep his mind occupied.

Why the hell not, mate, said his imaginary twin glumly. Die of sheer boredom otherwise, we would.

George, bemusedly, agreed.

ooo000ooo

The small brown owl gave George a gentle peck, and he automatically handed over a treat, leaving the parchment she'd brought onto the table.

"What is it?" asked Arthur.

"Nothing," said George, and got up to get himself a tea.

Arthur picked up the letter. "From Verity and Naomi. Isn't Naomi your assistant who started work a month before we all had to hide?"

"Yeah, that's her."

Arthur looked at the letter and then at George, who gave him a vague 'go ahead' wave.

"They want to re-open the shop," he said, and looked back at George.

George shrugged. "They can if they want to," he said, and added sugar to his tea.

"Don't they need you to-"

"No, we had everything set up so they could do whatever they wanted with it, in case we didn't make it."

Arthur blinked, swallowed hard, and glanced over the letter again. "I think they're waiting for your permission."

George took a sip of his tea, then wandered into the living room with his book.

"George?" Arthur called out. "Are you going to answer them?"

"Sure, yeah," he said absently, sinking into a sofa and opening his book.

Arthur gazed at his son worriedly. He didn't seem drunk; he just didn't seem interested, in anything but his book.

"Do you mind if I answer them?" he asked.

George glanced up at him, surprised. "Erm... yeah, sure, go ahead," he said after a moment, and went back to reading.

Arthur sighed and went to find a parchment and quill.

ooo000ooo

"You ready, then?" said Fred.

"Are you joking?" George replied. "Think I'm going to throw up."

Fred laughed and checked his watch. Five minutes to go. "You'll have to clean it up, if you do," he said.

"Wanker. You ready?"

"Supremely."

George sniggered and gave him a good-natured shove. "Show-off."

"It'll be easy," Fred grinned. "Just remember how it felt flying out of school. Same thing."

"Ha, I remember you nearly pissing yourself with nerves before we set that whole thing off."

Fred waved a dismissive hand. "We're a legend back there, you know. Ron says 'doing a Weasley' has become a verb in its own right."

"Sounds naughty when you say it like that." George paused. "That was one spectacular thing, though. This is ongoing. What if it fails?"

"It won't. With the kind of sales we made, even without a shop?"

George grinned. "You're right. It'll be amazing."

"Absolutely." Fred glanced over their shelves. "I only hope it's amazing enough to pay for our rent."

"If we somehow manage to sell our stock," said George. "If we can manage to guess how much is enough and not make too much so it's sitting on a shelf and not so little that customers get irate. If we have enough left over for food at the end of the day."

Fred nodded. "If we manage to sell to grown-ups with real money, not only kids with only their allowances to spend."

"If we don't get sued, or have our products kill someone," added George. "If Mum doesn't murder us in our sleep."

Fred turned back to him. "D'you know something? We sold to kids who didn't have all that much money to spare; we'll figure out supply and demand quick enough if we're willing to work at night; we can always eat our mistakes if we haven't any other food; prostitution to pay rent may be an option, especially if we come as a set; we're a lot more careful than we used to be thanks to Hermione, bless her overprotective little heart. And Mum'll wake us up to yell at us before murdering us."

George nodded. "Wish it was 9AM already." He peeked out the window. "Merlin, Fred, look out there." Fred peered over his shoulder. "All those people. They're waiting for us. Real people, grown-ups and everything."

They gazed out the window raptly.

The clock struck nine.

"Ready?" said Fred.

"No," said George, laughing.

"Scared?"

"Terrified!"

"Me too!" said Fred. They grinned at each other, and opened the door.

ooo000ooo

"I'm far too old for this," said Andromeda, gazing gloomily at her fussy blue-haired grandson as George took him from Harry. "And you two are far too young."

"For what?" said George, putting the baby on his shoulder. "Babysitting?"

Andromeda shook her head. "Being war veterans. Grieving for so many people."

George and Harry's eyes met briefly, and George reflected - not for the first time - that as nice as it was to come to Andromeda's, and get a break from the endless Burrow-mourning, it probably wasn't totally healthy to spend so much time in a home as filled with grief as this one. Sometimes it felt like he and his family were being crushed by the weight of having lost one son and brother; Andromeda had lost her husband, only daughter, and son-in-law, and had been left in charge of an infant, all by herself.

And yet she hardly ever seemed to complain. She was handling things with far more grace than the Weasleys, though there did always seem to be a drink in her hand.

"You know, you don't have to come and help all the time," she told George and Harry. "Not that I'm not grateful. But you two have your own lives to get back in order."

"Don't really have much else to do, to be honest," George told her, and patted the baby's back, eliciting a surprisingly loud belch. "I don't mind."

"You're very good with him, you know," she said, and George smiled slightly. If only Fred could see him, burping a baby. "You've got a lot of brothers and sisters, right?" said Andromeda. "You probably know a fair bit about babies."

"Not really; I'm the third youngest," said George. "By the time my sister came along we were three. I've never changed a nappy in my life. I'm sure Bill and Charlie did a few."

"I haven't that much experience either, other than Dora. I was the youngest," said Andromeda. "I seem to recall my sisters not liking me very much when we were small." She brooded for a moment. "I'm not sure how accurate that memory is, though. And I don't suppose I'll ever know, now."

George nodded. With Bellatrix dead and Narcissa pretty much out of Andromeda's life... no, there wasn't anybody who would be able to answer any questions about her childhood.

The baby grabbed George's hand and tried to bring it to his mouth. George handed him a teething ring. "I think we tried to give Ginny to the gnomes a few times," he offered, and Andromeda gave a small chuckle.

"I'm sure you were a wonderful big brother," she said.

"Not sure Ron would agree," said George, and Harry glanced at him sharply, but didn't comment. It was like a tacit agreement between them, that they didn't talk about the Weasleys while at Andromeda's. No Ron, no Fred, no Mum and Dad, no Ginny.

He didn't know Harry's motivation, but his own wasn't just a selfish desire to get a break from the Burrow-themed gloom. Andromeda needed him, and so did Teddy. Remus and Tonks would've wanted him to help her, and help their kid. It didn't come close to paying Remus back for having saved George's life back when they were Polyjuiced as Harry, or for helping Bill through his werewolf-related problems. It didn't pay back Tonks for helping George learn to balance again after he lost his ear - a clumsy person herself, she'd had plenty of tips on how to deal with unsteadiness. It didn't pay back both of them for having helped so much with Potterwatch. But it was the least he could do.

"You're good with Teddy, experienced or not," said Andromeda. "I can't tell you how much it means to me that you two... I mean, you're young men, you have better things to do than this..."

"It's no trouble, honestly," said George, tickling the baby and watching him laugh. He chuckled as the baby's skin turned a weird mottled orange-and-white, a distant approximation of George's own freckles. Presumably it would look a little better once Teddy had control of his Metamorphmagus powers. Colours would sometimes copy perfectly, sometimes not. Teddy's hair was either blue or aqua, or the exact shade of whoever was holding him, but his skin... yeah, no control there.

He put the baby to his shoulder and patted him.

"I'll be back tomorrow, then?" said Harry, getting up and getting ready to go.

"How is training going?" Andromeda asked.

"Pretty good," he said. "We're still getting used to each other. It's a big group."

"I still can't believe how few Aurors the Ministry has left," said Andromeda, shaking her head.

"I still can't quite believe they don't even want us to do our last year," said Harry. "Seven of us in the training group have no NEWTs; four of us weren't even in school last year. They don't care."

"So you're not going back, then?" asked George.

"To school? No."

"You're sure, in Ron's case?"

"Yeah." Harry paused. "Does your Mum know?"

"In that she was still speaking to Ron this morning, I'd say probably not," said George. "She's not going to like this. She thought the training was only till Hogwarts opened again, in case you wanted to join the Aurors after you're done school. She'll go mental on him."

"I can't see her doing that," said Andromeda. "I... I wouldn't be able to be angry with any child of mine, if I had any left." She pressed her lips together and then took a large swig of Scotch, visibly pushing her thoughts away from her lost daughter.

George and Harry exchanged a glance, and George gave Harry a small nod, wordlessly assuring him he'd stay until Andromeda was a little bit more stable, or at least not pissed and alone with the baby. Harry nodded and went out the Floo.

George didn't mind. It would help keep him out of The Burrow, anyway, and away from Bill and Charlie well-meaning but rather annoying attempts to draw him out. Away from Mum's constant crying, Dad's weariness and sorrow, and Ron and Ginny's complete inability to figure out how to relate to George without Fred by his side.

Andromeda poured herself another goblet of Scotch. George put the baby on his shoulder, patting him comfortingly, and glanced at the picture of Remus and Tonks and their blue-haired newborn on the mantelpiece.

ooo000ooo

"George! Hold on!" Remus yelled as blinding pain flashed through George and a torrent of hot red poured down his neck. He gulped and clutched his wand tighter, trying to keep fighting, trying to rise above the stunning pain and dizziness-

"Don't try to fight, George," Remus panted, "just hold on to the broom. Protego!"

Don't try to fight, George thought. Right. I can do that. Hold on? That might be a bit tougher. Fred, fuck, this hurts.

"I've got you!" Remus grunted and swerved. "Incendio! Hold on!"

"Can't," George muttered, blinking desperately. The world was getting very dark, very fast-

"George!" Remus shouted. "Stay with me! Don't let go!"

Fred, help me, George thought as the world went dark, and Remus' arm tightened around him and-

And his head hurt, he felt shaky and sleepy, and Mum was talking to Ginny, and where the hell was Fred -

Suddenly Dad was there, asking something, him and Mum talking, but Fred...

He shifted. "How do you feel, Georgie?" asked Mum in a whisper. Fred wasn't saying a word and somehow George could feel stark fear coming from his direction. Merlin, not on, Fred needed to get a grip. George forced himself to reach for consciousness, reach past dizziness, reach past the nauseating awareness that there was a hole on the side of his head...

He groaned. How did he feel. He brought a hand to the side of his head. He felt like he was ten percent knackered and ninety percent hole on the side of his... "Saint-like," he said, smiling slightly.

"What's wrong with him?" croaked Fred. "Is his mind affected?"

Ah, git. What a time to lose his sense of humour. "Saint-like," George opened his eyes. "You see... I'm holey. Holey, Fred, geddit?"

Mum sobbed and George looked into Fred's scared eyes. Merlin, Fred, please don't collapse now, I'm in a hell of a lot of pain, and I need you.

Fred straightened up. "Pathetic," he said. "Pathetic! With the whole wide world of ear-related humour before you, you go for holey? "

And then everything was OK again.

ooo000ooo

"How's the paperwork going?" Ron asked over Sunday dinner, and George shrugged.

"It's going."

"What are you up to now?"

"Log of all the Ministry warding spells that were compromised by the Death Eaters. Dunno why; whatever they were protecting got destroyed or the wards have been changed anyway."

"Goblins," said Bill, cutting into his very rare steak. "They loaned their ward-setters to the Ministry to re-cast their wards. They'll want to be paid for those services. I'm supposed to be in charge of the compensation claim forms, as soon as I've got the list. Didn't know you were writing it." He took a bite of steak.

"D'you want me to hurry it up, then?" George asked.

Bill swallowed and shook his head vehemently. "Merlin, no. I've got enough to do at the bank right now. If Fleur wasn't working up north right now, she'd be right pissed at how little I'm home."

"General post-war damage control?" asked Charlie.

"Mostly. Especially with repairing the damage done by these two." He nodded at Ron and Harry.

"Why do you have to repair it?" Ginny asked, finishing her mashed potatoes.

"I'm Ron's brother," said Bill.

"Oh for heaven's sake, if anything they should be grateful to you," said Mum.

"Goblins, Mum," Bill chuckled. "They don't do grateful terribly well."

"I'll never understand why you continue to work with them."

"There are certain advantages."

"Name one," said Ron, getting himself more steak, avoiding the almost still-bleeding pieces meant for Bill.

Bill thought for a moment. "It makes it that much more pleasant to go home to Fleur after a day working with them?"

George sniggered. "Bill, if you need goblins to make going home to your Veela wife more 'pleasant,' you've turned into an old, old man before your time."

Ron and Harry laughed.

"Oi, show a little respect for the old married man," said Charlie. "Don't listen to them, Bill. They're just jealous they don't have Veelas of their own."

"Oi, I did get a Veela of my own once, remember?" George said. "During this one's wedding. Would've been a perfect wedding date, if the bloody Death Eaters hadn't interrupted us right in the middle of-"

"For heaven's sake, Fred!" Mum snapped, and George laughed.

"Sorry, Mum-" and then they all froze.

George and Mum stared at each other for a long moment, and then her lip trembled and she made a strangled sound.

"Mum, it - it's all right," he said quietly, looking away. A smile quirked the side of his mouth and for a moment looked as though he was going to add something else, but thought better of it.

"George?" Mum said tentatively.

He hesitated, then gave her a small smile. "You must know if Fred were here he'd say, Honestly woman, what do I have to do around here to get you to be able to tell us apart?" and the slight tremor in his voice made Ron's throat ache.

Mum laughed, startled, and then so did the rest of them. She blinked rapidly, seeming determined to follow George's lead and not make a bigger fuss over her faux pas than was warranted. "I'm sorry," she said.

"We all had twenty years of confusing them," Ron said, trying to sound normal. "Wouldn't it be odd if we broke that habit after less than a month?"

"Almost shows lack of respect, to forget that so quickly," said Bill.

"You all right?" Ron asked George in a low voice a little while later, after Mum had gone back to the kitchen with Dad to get the pudding. George glanced at him questioningly.

"You know Mum didn't mean to-"

"It's all right," George said distantly. "Just thinking that might be the last time I'm ever called by the wrong name."

Ron swallowed hard.

"There's high potential for humour in this whole un-twinning thing, I'm sure, but I'm failing to see it. And when I do see it, it's a little inappropriate."

"When did inappropriateness ever stop you two?" asked Ginny.

George raised an eyebrow. "It stopped me plenty of times. Just not Fred."

Ginny met his gaze. "Well, then I suppose if there's a joke to be told you'd best get on with it, because unfortunately, he's the quiet one now."

George gaped at her, then started laughing. "I can't believe you just said that," he said, catching his breath.

"What?" Ginny said. "It's true."

"Yeah, guess so. I definitely have the better sense of humour now. A lot... livelier."

Ginny groaned. "But he's a lot more tactful."

"And Angelina always said I was the kind one - probably why they didn't last - well, now I'm the warmer one, too."

"I always thought he was more emotional," Ginny said. "Well I must say he's being remarkably stoic about this whole death business."

"And his sense of comic timing has gone completely awry," said Percy.

George blinked at Percy in surprise, and then burst out laughing.

ooo000ooo

"Mum's still crying," said Fred, reeling in his Extendible Ear and settling back on the couch in the living room between Ron and Ginny.

"I can't believe he's actually gone and done it," said George.

"No?" said Fred grimly. "I can't believe it took him this long."

"Look, he's always been a prat, but I honestly thought-"

"You're too trusting," said Fred scornfully. "You think just because you or I couldn't imagine betraying our family for any reason, nobody else could."

"I doubt he thinks of it as betrayal," George pointed out.

"You think it isn't? He just basically said he doesn't believe Harry, doesn't believe Dumbledore, doesn't believe Mum and Dad, because of his fucking ridiculous job!" Fred said, his voice rising and his eyes narrowed in anger. "What else would you call that?"

"Betrayal, yeah," said George. "But he doesn't see it that way! Probably thinks of it as 'loyalty to the greater good.' I'm not excusing him; just telling you how he probably thinks of it!"

"He doesn't deserve to have you defend him!" Fred shouted. "He doesn't deserve to have anybody in this family defend him!"

George blinked, taken aback. "You arse! I'm not defending him!" he shouted back, as always a little slower to ignite than his twin, but giving back as good as he got. "I'm just pointing out that this is Percy we're talking about. He can't imagine doing anything that isn't 'the right thing to do', no matter how completely asinine it is. Don't shout at me just because you're pissed at him!"

Fred opened his mouth and then glanced at Ron and Ginny, who were gaping at them in disbelief, and closed it. It was like an unspoken rule in the family: Twins Never Disagree. Not in public, anyway, and hardly ever in private, either.

"You know what Percy needs?" Fred said slowly.

"A nice explosive enema to remove the large stick he's got stuck up his arse?"

"Nah, he'd collapse," said Ginny. "It's the only thing keeping him upright, what with having no spine."

Fred smirked. "He's moving out, yeah? Going to find a place of his own? What do you say we give him a going away present?"

"Something that indicates how much success we wish him in his future Weasley-less endeavours?" said George.

Fred nodded. "Something that shows how much we appreciate him."

"Something that shows exactly what we think of him."

"Something to do with dungbombs, then?" said Ginny. "Bubotuber pus is also a nice touch."

Fred smiled at her. "We've taught her so well," he said fondly.

ooo000ooo

George sighed and wished he were at Andromeda's. But he'd been there enough that day, and he had a pile of papers to go through from the Ministry. He picked up the top envelope. Requisition forms for overseas wizarding communities. He worked his way steadily through them. It wasn't that different from ordering things at Wheezes, except it didn't tear at him like thinking of Wheezes did. Not that he was doing that.

Supplies arriving from Beauxbatons needed cataloguing. And they needed a translating spell cast on their third-year Arithmancy books; the Hogwarts sets had been damaged beyond repair, Flourish and Blotts was nowhere near ready to help restock, and Vector was dead. George grimaced. All that amazing knowledge, gone. Who would teach the kids how to watch for the number combinations that brought out the quirkiest and most spectacular reactions in potions? Which spells to run numbers through to benefit a growing business the most? He suppressed a sigh and began translating.

An hour into it, halfway through the book, he was starting to get drowsy and no longer sure of the difference between "aujourd'hui" and "hier", as his translating spell started to falter. Merlin, he'd best get this magic-wavering problem under control before... he headed his thoughts away from whatever the end of that sentence was going to be. Before nothing. He put a bookmark into the text and closed it.

He moved to the next pile: a list of Muggle places that had been sites of possible Death Eater attacks. He condensed the different reports, weeded out duplicate information, turned it all into a neatly summarized package for the Aurors to work with.

A boring eternity later, another list: this time a list of deaths and disappearances. The Ministry was still trying to get a handle on how many people had gone missing during Voldemort's reign, and how many had died at Hogwarts, Hogsmeade, and Azkaban. There were parchments of lists scribbled by people at the scene, lists of injuries from St. Mungo's, list of missing persons compiled by The Prophet. Mind-numbing work, but necessary.

He started two new parchments, labelled "Lost" and "Found". Started to compile a list of people who had been reported missing by families, friends, employers, and neighbours, and compared it to the names of people found in Azkaban.

The list was depressingly long. And he was getting a mite confused. Percy could probably help with this. Percy would probably make a chart, where he could just fill in the blanks. He got himself a drink and made himself a chart.

Right, then. People Dementor-Kissed in Azkaban. Nameless young woman, hair: brown, eyes: blue-grey, age: early twenties, height: 5 foot 9, weight: 117lbs. He winced, wondering if anyone had bothered to feed her. No identifying marks. He clipped her picture to the parchment, and made a note to ask for more pictures from the St. Mungo's staff.

Kiss victims were not pretty. He promised himself a stiff drink - or two - at the end of this particular pile.

List of Hogwarts Dead, said the next pile, and he began to correlate mechanically with the Lost file, not letting himself dwell on the fact that "correlating" meant ending all hope for some of the families and friends who were still looking for their loved ones.

Herbert, Jessica , said one name, family unknown, lived in Hogsmeade, therefore probably not Muggle-born. He mechanically wrote in all the information he had on her, compiling her entry with bits and scraps from here and there, age, height, weight, description, birth date, employment, blood status, death date, cause & circumstances of death, family notified? [No]

Bilbury, Jackson, same thing. He moved down to the next entry.

Weasley, Fred, he wrote. Age 20, 5'11", 155lbs, eye colour brown, hair colour red, shop owner, blood status pureblood, died May 2, 1998, Hogwarts floor 7, cause of death: explosion, trauma, non-magical, killer unknown, possibly [Augustus] Rookwood, family notified? [Yes]

Patil, Anne, Age 19, 5'7", 145lbs, eye colour blue, hair colour brown, Healer apprentice, blood status half-blood, died May 2, 1998, Hogwarts Ravenclaw tower, circumstances unknown, family notified? [Yes]

Robertson, Maurice

He abruptly put down the paper and shoved it away, feeling queasy. He stood to get himself another drink. Decided to make it two. Came back to the pile, now pleasantly buzzed, to find Percy staring at it in wide-eyed horror.

"You... you did Fred's death entry?" said Percy, his voice hushed.

George frowned. "Yeah."

"That's... somebody else should've done that," said Percy. "How could they send that to you?"

"It's only death entries," George snapped. "Nobody's asked me to dig any graves. Simple filling in blanks. What's got into you?"

Percy shook his head. "You shouldn't've been asked-"

"Who else would they send these to? Just about everybody in wizarding Britain's been affected, Percy," said George, and shoved him aside.

Percy passed a shaking hand over his brow. "I thought they sent volunteers donation inventory lists and lists of damaged buildings, not-"

"Look, sod off," said George. "And let me get back to my work." He knocked back the rest of his drink and sat back down.

"George, maybe you shouldn't be doing this."

"Why, because you're so much better at this than I am?"

"No. Because you're going to mess it up. You're drunk."

George shoved the paper at Percy and stood up. He moved to the window, and polished off another drink. How many was that now?

"How can your work be this good when you're this drunk?" Percy muttered under his breath, his quill scratching busily away.

"No sloppy mistakes, then, Perfect Percy? Despite the bit of a buzz?"

Percy shook his head.

"We have many talents," said George dully. "Well. Had. I still do; Fred's not terribly talented any more."

Percy drew in his breath, continued writing.

"Fred's not doing much of anything. Complete layabout."

Percy gave him a small, tentative smile. Humour is one of the only things that'll get you through this, thought George, and poured himself another drink.

Except humour wasn't going to do it. And the room was starting to spin.

Weasley, Fred, age 20, 5'11", 155lbs, eye colour brown, hair colour red, shop owner

George leaned his head against the window. Occupation shop owner, and twin. And he was utterly useless at both now, rotting in the ground with George unable to do anything but plod steadily onwards, doing paperwork for fuck's sake, hearing and seeing his brother all around him but unable to talk to him, see him, joke with him, laugh with him. His brother's presence not comforting, but heavy and oppressive.

Percy started another entry. "Margaret Franks survived," he murmured. "Her mother was frantic."

"Who gives a shit?" muttered George.

"I think her mother does," said Percy.

"I don't. Keep it to yourself."

Percy looked up at him. "George." He paused. "Stop drinking."

"Don't tell me what to do."

The Floo flared up and Mum and Dad and Ginny came in, back from visiting the graveyard again, no doubt. Wonderful. More people to tell him what to do. He gave them a desultory wave and remained at the window as they moved into the sitting room.

George, what are you doing?

Nothing. Nothing but standing here and getting drunk. And wishing I had somebody to help me put Percy in his place.

He's not doing anything wrong. He's just trying to help.

Now he knew Fred-in-his-head was his own creation. Percy's motivations never would've mattered to Fred.

They would if he was hurting too.

No they wouldn't.

"George?" said Percy.

"Shut up," said George. "I don't want to be talking to you." Not to the brother who'd betrayed them all. Who had then waltzed back into their lives, taken the place of George's twin, and now seemed determined to take away the only two things that were making Fred's absence bearable right now: paperwork, and alcohol.

"Look, you need to lie down. Let me take you-"

"Piss off," said George, and swayed. Fuck, he'd drunk far too much.

Dad stood up, eyeing George carefully. "George."

"No, fuck off," said George to Percy, ignoring Dad. "I don't want you here. You shouldn't even be here, it should be Fred here." George glared at the pile of parchments. "Bloody hell, I would've been able to do your death notice no problem. If you'd died instead who the fuck would've been sorry? You didn't need us, we don't need you. Good riddance."

"George!" gasped Mum.

George turned away from Percy, from all of them, and left the room.

Flying. Maybe he could go flying, far away where everything didn't hurt so fucking much any more. Where he didn't have to feel so empty, all the time, hurting, all the time.

Instead he stumbled to his new room and fell onto his bed, closed his eyes, and let sleep take him away.

ooo000ooo

The Burrow had too many people in it, George thought the next morning as he entered the kitchen. He mumbled good mornings to his parents, Ron and Ginny, and wished that even one of them would take him to task over what he could remember of last night. Or say something to him. Anything but this careful solicitousness, offering him a cup of coffee and saying nothing at all.

He sat down with his coffee. "Dad?" he asked, his voice low.

"Yes."

George spoke hesitantly. "Please tell me that what I remember saying to Percy last night... that I didn't really say it."

"Yes you did," Dad said after a pause.

George closed his eyes briefly and nodded, drained his coffee cup, then set it down and slowly stood up.

"Where are you going?"

"I assume Percy went back to his place?"

"Yes."

"I'm going to... I dunno, apologize or something."

"They haven't repaired his Floo connection yet," said Mum. "And you're in no state to walk from the Ministry Floo to his place, or to Apparate."

"I'm not drunk, Mum, just hung over," George said quietly.

"You won't do Percy any good, Splinching yourself."

"Mum-"

The Floo coughed and Percy stepped out.

There was a tense silence for a moment, then Percy nodded at everyone and moved to the living room.

"Just came to get my pack, I left it here last night."

"Percy," said George, and Percy looked at him warily. George cleared his throat. "Can I talk to you?"

"Why?"

"Can we go somewhere else and talk?"

Percy gave him a slight frown.

Bugger. George took a deep breath. "All right, fine. What I said to you last night, I said in public, so I should be man enough to apologize in public too, if you want."

Percy nodded, his face blank.

"I..." George cleared his throat. "I'm sorry. It's pathetically inadequate." He cleared his throat again, forcing himself to meet Percy's eyes, and continued. "What I said to you was unforgivable, and I don't expect you to forgive me, but I just wanted to know I'm sorry. If I could take it back, I would."

Percy nodded again. "It's all right."

"It's not all right."

"You all forgave me three years of betraying all of you," he pointed out.

George looked down, fidgeting with his coffee cup. Percy glanced around the kitchen and gently took George's shoulder, leading him out to the living room.

"It's all right," he repeated once they were alone. "You were drunk."

"It's not all right. God, what the fuck is wrong with me," George whispered, his voice breaking.

"You're not yourself right now." Percy cleared his throat. "Thanks for not telling me you didn't mean it," he said. "I know it would've been easier on everybody if it'd been me. I know that."

"Fuck, Percy," George said, his chest tight. "Don't say that anywhere near Mum. It nearly killed her when you left the family; can you imagine what she'd feel like if you'd died without us being able to see you for more than a few hours?" He shook his head. "I don't wish you'd died instead of Fred. I wish I had, but not you."

Percy frowned. "George, Merlin, d'you mean that?"

George shook his head. "No, of course not, forget I said that. Figure of speech."

"Because if you do-"

"I don't." George firmly got a hold of himself. "It was a figure of speech," he said.

"You need to talk to Mum and Dad about this."

"You obviously think they haven't worried enough about me and my shite."

"They wouldn't be able to bear losing you too. None of us would."

"Percy," said George. "Drop it. Please."

Percy frowned at him, but nodded. Then he cleared his throat. "You know, you didn't have to apologize."

"What?"

"After what I did, going against all of you-"

George huffed out his breath, annoyed. "You apologized for that and we all accepted it. Bloody hell, Fred was the first to forgive you."

Percy gave him a small smile. "That just about floored me, to be honest. After the last time I came home... that he would just say 'That's all right' as if it hadn't been more than a simple misunderstanding."

George shook his head. "He wouldn't have held a grudge. Neither do I. As far as I'm concerned, it never happened; you don't have to keep trying to make up for it."

Percy nodded. "I... I know, I'm probably pissing you off just by being here. I know that. We never got along before." He pushed his glasses up. "Don't know why I thought we would now."

"We do," said George. "I do, anyway."

"Why?"

George thought for a moment. "You don't... you've been the only member of our family that I can be with without... I dunno, without feeling like I'm..." he trailed off, not knowing how to say it without sounding completely maudlin. Alone. Incomplete. Missing something.

"What?"

"Mum and Dad have each other, Bill's got Fleur, Charlie's got his bloody dragons, Ron's got Hermione and Ginny's got Harry, and you're the only one who doesn't have anybody else." He swallowed. "So then I go and treat you like shit."

"I didn't blame you, you know," said Percy after a moment. "I thought you might feel that way. That I should've died instead, I mean."

George shook his head. "It's not because it's you. Only... I wish Fred had survived, that's all."

"Don't we all." Percy pushed up his glasses. "Are we all right, then? With this?"

"Dunno. Are we?"

Percy nodded. "I am. It never happened."

George nodded, and wished with all his heart that it were really that easy.

ooo000ooo

"He's not doing well here, Molly," said Dad.

"But we can help him," said Mum, and Ron tried to think of a way to ask what possible help it could be to George to be shut up in this house, where grief permeated every single room, with almost no way out. Ron was sure that without his own escape to the Aurors and to Hermione's place, he'd go stark raving mad himself, and they'd all be lucky if all he did was say some ugly things to Percy.

"Mum, we're not helping," said Ron. "He's got nothing to do here."

"But he needs us," she insisted.

"He's not a kid," said Ginny. "He doesn't need you to take care of him."

"But he needs-"

"How about if you're trying to figure out what he needs, you ask him," said George, coming into the kitchen, followed by Percy. "Just a suggestion." He poured himself another coffee. "Feel free to ignore him, though."

There was a long pause. "Is... are you all right?" asked Dad.

"Yeah." George took a sip and sat down at the kitchen table. "Just hung over." He paused. "Sorry, Mum."

Mum cleared her throat. "So what do you want to do?"

George sighed. "I want to go home." He dropped his gaze to the table top. "And yeah, I know, I'll always have a home here, and my own place is a bit empty right now. I still want to go there."

"But what'll you do?" asked Mum, sitting down as well.

"Go back to living in the flat above the shop. For now, anyway."

"George..."

"It's going to be hard, Mum, I know," he said wearily. "But it's not like it'll get easier the longer I stay here."

There was another silence.

"Besides, I should get back to the shop, figure out what do with it."

"What do you mean?"

"Verity and Naomi have been running it for the last few weeks. It's doing good business, apparently. I've got to decide, though..."

"What?"

"Whether to sell it or not."

"...sell your shop?" Ron said faintly after a long, shocked silence.

"George, it was your dream," Dad began.

"Yeah, Dad, our dream. Not sure I can keep it going on my own."

"We could help," said Mum.

"I don't want to just keep it going if my heart's not in it."

"Well of course it's not right now, but-"

"Oh for God's sake, Mum, leave it!"

"I could help," said Ron.

"You're going to start full-time Auror Training."

"Not right away. I could help out evenings and weekends."

"And I'm out of a job, actually," said Percy, and George choked on his coffee.

"What?"

"Well, I am," said Percy, reddening a little at the family's shocked expressions. "I'm fairly good at book-keeping. If you needed help at-"

"You're offering - are you mental?" George started to laugh, one of the first genuine laughs they'd heard from him in weeks. "Oh my God can you picture Fred's face if he knew you were going to work at our shop?"

Ron caught his breath. Yeah, he wanted to say. A lot like yours. Without the gaunt look and sadness behind the smile.

"George," began Mum, "you don't have to go - this is your home-"

"I'm not Fred, Mum. I can't be."

"Of course you're not-"

"I'm not the one who died. I'm sorry you lost a son, but I can't make up for that."

"We're not asking you to make up for it."

"Yeah, you are. I can't bring him back for you. And I need to get the hell out of here."

"George-"

"You look at me and you see him! You think if you can keep me safe, that'll make some sort of difference, but it won't, all right?"

"Georgie... please."

There was a long silence. "I've got to go, Mum. I'm sorry."