Leave Out All the Rest

Author's Note: Thanks so much, Seaspray, for your lovely comment :)

July

"How are you going to make that one up?" asked Fred. "We've no more goldenrod."

"You can substitute saffron."

"Hideously expensive, though."

Suddenly a wolf-shaped Patronus appeared in the lab. "It's time," it said. "Get out. Right now."

Fred and George gaped at the Patronus, then at each other, and drew their wands.

"Merlin," said Fred, swallowing hard. "Well, it's showtime. Let's go."

George swept through the store, making sure the wards were holding, setting a few observation charms, scanning the area around them and outside as well. Fred triggered the protective charms they'd placed around the products and then called Verity and Naomi.

"We're leaving," Fred told them bluntly. "Our brother Bill just sent us a message, Death Eaters may show up at the shop any moment now to arrest us." Verity and Naomi both gaped at Fred. "We don't think we're a big priority, and the shop's well warded, so they won't be able to break through right away. For all we know everybody here may be safe for days, but I wouldn't count on it."

"We've made Portkeys for both of you and your families," added George. "You can take them and go underground if you want. Or you can try your luck and stay in London, since you really don't know anything. Here." He handed them both packages he and Fred had made for them back around the time of the wedding - memory charms to throw at anybody who tried to grab them, letters explaining what had happened, two months' salary, Portkeys to safe locations.

"If you want to keep running the shop in our absence, you're welcome to try," said Fred, his voice more clipped and businesslike than George had ever heard it before. "There's spells on some Defence products you won't be able to sell to anybody. Now, help us clear the shop of customers."

George moved quickly, shrinking and putting away their most expensive items. "Sorry, we're closing now," he said, pushing customers out with a Busy Somewhere charm.

"Oh dear... I've got to... to go, I'll be late," said a woman who had been about to look through the WonderWitch line. "I..." she looked at the merchandise in her hand.

"You paid already," George told her with a smile. She was a bit of a twit, but her daughter was funny as hell, and who knew when they'd be able to get her the sweets she loved so much.

"Ready?" said Fred, as the last customer exited, and Verity and Naomi were whisked away by their Portkeys. George checked his watch: exactly five minutes since Bill's Patronus.

"Ready - oh fuck!" George gasped as Diagon filled with shrieks, and men in masks dashed themselves against the shop doors, bouncing off the wards and hitting the buildings across the street.

George smirked. "May've made those a little too strong, mate."

Fred grinned at him. "Come on." He glanced around the place one last time, a wistful look on his face.

"We'll be back," George said. "Don't worry. In the meantime we'll still have Owl Order to drive Auntie Muriel mental."

Fred grinned. "Yeah. Let's go."

"How long d'you think it'll be before they trigger the aerial U-No-Poo?" was the last thing George said to Fred as they left their shop together for the last time.

*****

Verity and Naomi had been amazing, opening the shop without George and keeping it going for weeks. Ron and Percy soon settled in as well, despite Ron's Auror training and Percy's continued volunteer work for the Ministry. It was going well, at first.

And if George was having nightmares, and drinking a tad more than he had been at The Burrow, and if his magic didn't always work perfectly, well, that wasn't that big a problem. Nightmares and drinking were hardly unique to him these days - though Andromeda at least was cutting down - and according to Hermione, magical dysfunction was common "after a great loss". He just had to work at things a little more. Get Naomi and Verity to double-check product before it went on the shelf. It was a bit of a pain in the arse, and cost extra in overtime wages, but the shop was raking in Galleons like never before.

It was good that he'd come back to Wheezes. At least, it was better than being at The Burrow. He told himself that every day, in the hopes that some day he'd believe it, instead of wishing he was somewhere, anywhere, else.

It came down to options and possibilities. He wanted, desperately, to sell the place - to leave and never come back, to not feel like he was working in Fred's grave, to not hear Fred-in-his-head all the time, to not feel Fred's memory surrounding him all the time - but where would he go? Without Fred to tell him what to do, he had no clue what to do next. Where he was, was miserable, but there was nowhere else to go. And nobody to talk to about how he felt. Family was no help at all.

"Merlin, I miss Fred," Ron said one day as they finished restocking the supply cupboards.

"Do you?" George said, his voice tense.

"Yeah. I wish... Mum says we shouldn't upset you, remind you about him," said Ron, and closed the purple cupboard's door. "But I don't want us to forget him."

"I have no trouble remembering him, Ron," George said grimly. "No trouble at all. I spend most of my time trying not to remember him, thanks very much." He closed a box of Incendiary Ink bottles and shoved it into the pink cupboard, checking off the list of safety procedures before closing the cupboard.

No, skipping the containment spell was not an option; the whole place might blow up. He blew out his breath and opened the door again, and cast the spell.

"D'you want me to not talk about him then?" Ron asked hesitantly.

"That'd be grand," said George, and hoisted a crate of Poison Pens up to the top shelf of the yellow cupboard. And thank Merlin, Ron merely moved off to clean cauldrons and didn't pursue the matter further. Because "remembering Fred is only likely to make me want to hex you for being such a piss-poor substitute for him" wasn't something he particularly wanted to say to his little brother. It wasn't Ron's fault, and the poor kid was doing his best, despite being somewhat over-extended with Auror Training on top of his duties at the shop. And he was mourning Fred too. George tried to remind himself of that, every time he got the urge to throttle Ron for the crime of not being Fred.

*****

"Why do I have to hold your hand?" Ronnie asked suspiciously.

"Because that's how you do it," said George.

"Is it going to hurt?" asked Ron, hands still behind his back. George and Fred stifled smiles. It wasn't that they wanted to hurt Ronnie, but he was awfully pesky and the pig's nose trick had been pretty funny.

"No, of course not," said Fred. "It'll be cool, you'll see."

"Really?"

"Really."

"And you'll give me all your Marvin comics?"

"Yeah."

"All of them? Even the one with the flim?"

"Yeah," said Fred.

"And it's called a film," said George.

"All I have to do is promise to be your lakey in all things forever?"

"Lackey. You have to say it properly or it won't work and you won't get the comics."

"What's a lackey?"

"A really good little brother."

Ronnie was still not fully convinced. George couldn't help but be a little proud of him; Ron was too small to be much fun, and he was a pain when he tried to tag along after them all the time, but he wasn't totally pathetic. He had at least figured out by now that blindly trusting the twins brought him little joy and them endless laughs.

Fred sat back and stared at Ronnie for a long moment. "You know what?" he said to George. "I don't think... maybe this isn't such a good idea."

George blinked and then followed his lead. "Why's that, Fred?"

"I don't think Ronnie'll be a good lackey after all. D'you think maybe Percy might want the comics?"

"Percy?!" Ronnie said, his eyes wide.

"Yeah, maybe," said George slowly. "Mum's always going on about what a good, responsible brother Percy is. Hm..." he trailed off, then started to rise. "You're right, Fred. I think we better ask Percy. Ronnie's still too much of a baby."

Ron's mouth dropped open in dismay. "No! You said - you asked me! Not boring old Percy!"

"Yeah, but--"

"I'll do it!" said Ron, holding out his hand.

Fred and George waited a credible amount of time, then reluctantly sat back down. Fred reached out and took Ron's grubby hand in his own.

"Ready, then?" he said to George.

"Yeah," said George, though to tell the truth, he hadn't been totally sure this was a good idea when Fred had proposed it. After all, what exactly did happen, if an Unbreakable Vow was broken? And what if cousin Mafalda's discarded old wand that they'd found in the attic went wonky again, the way it had when they'd tried to use it to gather all the eggs from the chicken coop so they wouldn't have to, and it made all the eggs explode into a shower of origami chicks instead?

It was too late to back out now, though. He knelt back down, holding out the splintery old wand.

Ron was looking at it suspiciously. "Mummy says we're not supposed to play with wands."

"Mummy says a lot of things," said Fred. "You're not going to tell Mummy on us, are you? Because that's not what a good lackey does."

"No?" said Ronnie.

"Good man," said George. "Go ahead, Fred."

Fred gave Ronnie a reassuring grin. "Will you, Ronald Weasley, promise to be a good lackey to your brothers Fred and George Weasley?"

"Yes?" said Ron, and a wavery tendril of flame came out of the wand and went around Fred and Ron's wrists. George suppressed a shout of excitement. It was working!

"Will you promise to get us everything we ask you for, whenever we ask you to?"

Ron pouted. "Yes." A slightly stronger tendril wound around the first.

"Will you promise to give us your Chocolate Frog cards when they have Ludo Bagman on them?"

"Yes," Ronnie said scornfully. He shared their father's disdain for Ludo.

"Will you promise to--"

"What's going on here?" Dad appeared as if from nowhere, and Fred and George looked up at him, startled.

"We're... playing?" they said.

They had a back-up plan, but they'd forgotten it. Right! George was supposed to say they were --

"Where did you get that wand?" Dad asked.

"Mum said we could have whatever was in the box," Fred said. "We weren't sure she meant the wand, but then she was awfully busy with the baby so we didn't want to bother her. She wouldn't have said it was all right if it wasn't, would she?"

But Dad wasn't listening to their rather weak excuse, because he was now staring at the shining chain around Fred and Ronnie's wrists, and George very very much wanted to put the wand down and stop the spell but the grownups hadn't said anything about whether you could just stop in the middle of this one.

Dad's eyes grew wide. "Did you boys hear us talking about the Unbreakable Vow yesterday?"

"No!" said Fred, and "What's that?" said George, but Dad didn't buy it for a second.

They were in for it now.

"But you said that's what we were doing!" said Ron.

"No, we didn't!" they both said.

"What did they want you to promise, Ron?" asked Dad, carefully taking the wand from George and whispering something that made the bands of light disappear.

"They said I had to say I would be their lakey forever and ever," said Ron, and George wanted to hit him on the nose.

"Whose idea was this?" Dad said, rolling Mafalda's old wand back and forth in his hand.

"Both of us," said George, and "Mine," said Fred.

"Ronnie, go inside and tell Mummy that Daddy said you need some chocolate," Dad said, his voice gentle but his face turning very red, and oh, Merlin - he looked like Mummy, right before they were going to really get it, and George and Fred exchanged a horrified glance.

"I cannot believe this!" Dad exploded as soon as Ronnie was out of sight, his curiosity and his normal eagerness to see the twins punished firmly trounced by the prospect of chocolate. "You two! I cannot - do you have any idea how dangerous that was?!"

Fred and George stared at him. Dad just didn't get angry. Ever.

"Do you know what happens when you break an Unbreakable Vow?"

Fred and George shook their heads.

"If you break an Unbreakable Vow, you die," said Dad harshly. "You two were this close to becoming murderers."

Fred and George were speechless.

"I have had enough of you two," said Dad, and George didn't think he'd ever felt as bad as right then. Because Mummy was always on about something or other, they were always setting her off, and they'd learned years ago to not take anything she said too seriously, but Dad. Dad, so angry and so disappointed in them and so disgusted with them, Dad who often laughed at their pranks and then tried to look stern as soon as Mum looked at him. Dad was so, so angry. And Ronnie could've died, because of them.

Fred made a strangled noise, and George chanced a glance at him, then quickly looked away. Because Fred was sniffling, and trying not to. And now George wanted to cry too, but they were seven years old and they were far too old to blubber like Ronnie did all the time.

Dad got up and hauled them both up by the back of their shirts. "Don't even imagine a fake sniffle is going to get you out of this," he said grimly, and marched them out to the shed.

It didn't even matter that the shed had the strap that had been used on generations of Weasley boys but Dad had used all of three times - all on Charlie - because he'd heard that Muggles believed giving children the strap was barbaric. No strap could hurt as badly as the disappointment and anger in Dad's face and voice.

August

Wheezes was turning into an even wilder success than it had been before the war, and the place was always filled with laughter. Mum, Dad, Bill, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Harry, Lee - almost every friend and family member George had was there all the time, helping out. Ron turned out to be surprisingly useful, suggesting and helping to invent one product after another after another. He even invented Cat-Got-Your-Tongues, from ideation to creation to testing to marketing, all by himself, to great success. The place was flourishing.

Which was good, because George's magic was not getting any better, and his mood was, if anything, getting worse.

Angelina came by. It was awkward, talking to her, and it shouldn't have been. They had been friends since they were eleven, gone to classes together and lived in the same dorm, stayed friends through her fling with Fred and their break-up, and he'd never had any problem talking to her. But now there were gaps in their conversation. Gaps Fred should've filled.

They made small talk about the shop and Angelina's search for a nice flat and the state of Diagon Alley and looked good to move on to the weather next when Angelina said, "You remember Luna? I've heard she's having some trouble."

"Lovegood?"

"Yeah, she's not going back to school this year."

"Wish I didn't have to," muttered Ginny, who was stacking bottles of Yummy Mummy perfumes into a teetering pyramid next to them.

"Why isn't she going back?" asked George.

"Her Dad. He's gone a bit funny in the head, it seems, and it's set her off too."

How would anybody know the difference? said Fred-in-his-head, but Fred-in-his-head had never lived in the dismal world of Grief. He didn't know that really, there were times when it just wasn't funny.

Or maybe it was, and George simply couldn't see it any more. Couldn't figure out how to make this uncomfortable conversation feel better, flow more easily, maybe remind everybody that there was still laughter in the world. Because if you couldn't poke a little fun at the lunatic Lovegoods, what was the point of living?

"What's wrong with him?" asked Ginny, and the moment was gone.

"He's rather paranoid," said Angelina. "Seeing all sorts of sinister things all around him."

"He's always done that."

"Yeah, but now he's terrified of them. Gets notions like the Death Eaters are still in the Ministry, vampires and Dementors are staging a comeback, that sort of thing. Luna feels that she needs to take care of him until he's better. He had to be admitted to the hospital after he tried to hex Florian Fortescue for harbouring Heliopaths in his icebox, and Luna went in with him."

"How do you know?"

"I've been volunteering at the hospital."

"Damn, I should go visit her," said Ginny. "Poor Luna."

"And... you?" Angelina asked George. "How's your health? Lee mentioned something about you having magic trouble?"

And suddenly this wasn't something he wanted to discuss with her. Which was odd; it was a pain in the arse, but he didn't have much of a problem when his family and friends mentioned it. Angelina was different, though, and he couldn't figure out why.

"Yeah, a bit," George muttered. "Not that big a deal, though."

"Are you going to see a Healer?"

"Yeah, I go about once a month anyway." Angelina tilted her head. "Because of the ear," he clarified.

"You should really talk to them about the magic thing too," she said.

George nodded uncomfortably.

"Angelina! Fancy meeting you here!" said Lee, entering the shop. Angelina smiled at him, a genuine, relaxed smile. "How long has it been? An entire week?"

Angelina snorted. "Three days, you arse," and George felt a sharp pang, which didn't subside as they started to chat easily about a Quidditch game they'd seen recently, and a Hogwarts Rebuilding Fundraiser concert they'd attended, and a pudding Lee had dropped off at Angelina's.

Apparently they were spending a great deal of time together. So what? There was no need for this surge of... what was it? Jealousy?

So they were friends. Close friends. Might even end up dating each other, as Lee had been hoping for since about third year. So what? George and Lee were best friends, never mind that they didn't seem to have much to say to each other these days; it wasn't as though Lee would cut him out of his life just because he was dating Angelina. And the nagging feeling that these two dating was somehow disrespectful of Fred was silly; Angelina hadn't been with Fred in years. Besides, who could blame Lee for wanting her? If it hadn't been for Fred, George would've wanted her too. He was loyal to his brother, but he wasn't blind.

*****

"How are you feeling, Mr. Weasley?" asked the Healer, examining George's missing ear.

Good, great, just the usual minor annoyances. He'd been saying that for over a year. "Fine," he said. "Other than hearing things that aren't there."

"I beg your pardon?" The Healer put down her wand, alarmed.

George blinked at her. "You know, echoes, or high-pitched sounds? I mentioned that last time I was in."

"Oh!" said the Healer, relieved. "Oh, that's all right, then."

"Why, what did you think I meant?"

"Erm, nothing," she said. "Only we've had a lot of people with mental maladies since the end of the war. We're even going to be hiring a Muggle-trained psychiatrist in here; our Cheering Charms specialists are getting a bit overwhelmed."

"Really?"

"Yes, people are hallucinating all sorts of things. We have a patient who swears she can see Nargles, if you can believe that, in our potted plants." She shook her head.

"That's too bad." Probably not the time to tell her about Fred-in-his-head. Thank God for having enough sanity to be able to tell the difference between real unexplained phenomena and mere vivid wishful thinking.

"All right, so we'll increase the dosage of the Hearing potion. And your dizzy spells: are they a bit more under control?"

"Yeah, nothing too serious there."

"Just remember the Balance Spell when it happens."

"I will."

"Is there anything else I can help you with today?" asked the Healer.

George hesitated. "I'm still having trouble with my magic."

"Still? What kind?"

"Same as before; it just feels as though there's less of it. Or suddenly sometimes there's more. I can't seem to control it very well."

"I did point out that that is normal after a loss."

George bit back the urge to snap, 'It's a death, not a loss. It's not like Mum'll find Fred behind the couch next time she tidies my flat.' "You also said it should begin to clear itself up within a few weeks. It's been over three months."

The Healer nodded. "It's just a combination of the ear and the loss, in all likelihood. Why don't I prescribe some Cheering Potions for you, and we'll see how you're doing next month." She scribbled on a prescription parchment and glanced at the clock on the wall. "Maybe I should run a couple of tests," she mused, then shook her head. "No. It's not causing you major distress, is it? You mentioned last time that your employees re-test everything you make."

"No, not major distress." Other than having to clean up blood in the lab a bit more than before. Best not say that either.

"Then why don't I wait till next time to do the tests, if this hasn't cleared up by then. They take a little long and I've a rather heavy schedule today."

"All right."

"Well then, you're free to go, Mr. Weasley. We'll see you next month."

"Thanks."

He put his cloak back on and left, musing distractedly on the Healer's attitude. There was no need to feel put off; if the Healer wasn't worried, in all likelihood there wasn't anything to worry about. This would clear itself up, eventually. He just had to be patient.

He stepped aside as a couple of Aurors with a Death Eater in magical chains between them went past him and down the hall to the Healer, and a sudden surge of fury rushed through him. George was suffering from wonky magic and a missing ear, Mum was brewing and taking far too many Cheering Potions, Fred was lying in the ground, and the Healer had to rush George through because she had a Death Eater to attend to?

He turned on his heel, strode off the Small Extremities Injuries Ward and headed for the lift, battling a growing impulse to slowly and painfully kill the chained man he'd just seen. Take all the bones out of his body and watch him writhe in agony, and all those Muggle anatomy books he and Fred had read for product research came back to him: the lungs couldn't breathe without ribs to expand and allow them to fill with air, the bowels would fall out without a pelvic girdle, the airway would collapse with no vertebrae to anchor it. Or maybe he could cast something to remove the upper layer of the Death Eater's skin and make his nerve endings shriek in agony as air hit them. Or maybe turn all organ tissues into glass so they'd shatter at the first breath, at the first heartbeat - no, then it would be over too quickly, that was no good--

"George?"

He blinked, startled, finding himself nowhere near the lift, Luna Lovegood's odd blue eyes staring up at him.

George shook his head, struggling to pull himself back from the disturbing place he'd just been in. He glanced at the sign on the wall: Janus Thickey Ward for Mental Maladies.

"What are you doing here?" George blurted, and felt sheepish for a split second before reminding himself that this was Luna Lovegood. Unlikely to be offended by minor social blunders.

"Daddy thinks I'm not right in the head," she said glumly. "Why are you here?"

"I was seeing a Healer on the Injuries Ward."

"Why?"

"I get dizzy and my magic isn't working well," said George.

"Is the magic because of your ear, or because Fred's dead?"

George blinked. That was rather direct. His family tended to avoid the words "dead" and "Fred" in the same sentence, and not just because of the unintentional silliness of the rhyme.

"Not sure, I don't think. Might not have anything to do with either."

"It might have to do with Umgubular Slashkilters," she said, her voice subdued. "Most people think they don't exist. My dad said Cornelius Fudge had one to diminish his enemies' magic. He says there's more of them around now."

"Do you believe that?"

Luna hesitated. "I think maybe he's wrong," she said softly. "I think maybe he's imagining things. I think maybe he has been, for a long, long time."

George nodded, still feeling utterly off-balance, and suddenly noticed that the girl before him didn't look much like the Loony Lovegood he'd known in the DA. She'd always looked dreamy and off in some bizarre world of her own, but happy to be there. Now, her eyes were downcast, her spirit almost visibly dimmed.

He wondered if he looked the same. Hastily pushed those thoughts away.

"Listen, are you allowed off the floor?" he found himself asking.

Luna nodded. "Yes, if I'm accompanied by someone else."

"D'you want to maybe get some tea on the fifth floor?"

Luna blinked, a small smile appearing on her face. She seemed to perk up a bit as they signed her out, and become almost herself again once they were in the tea room and she started to tell George a bit about her dad, and his problems, and their magazine. George sipped on his tea, finally feeling somewhat less murderous as she talked, though to tell the truth he wasn't really listening to her. That had been... rather disturbing.

Would Fred have been disturbed by that kind of thing? He really couldn't say. Sometimes Fred's impulses had scared George - and Fred too - because he didn't seem to see that there was such a thing as going too far. It was always George's role to put the brakes on - or, at least, try to - when they were going to make Ron take the Unbreakable Vow, when they were going to blackmail Ludo Bagman, when they were going to send Percy's office a package of dung that exploded and sang "Who's in love with Mr. Crouch?" when he first went to work at the Ministry. Without George there, would Fred have been able to see that Death Eater and not loose an Unforgivable or two in his direction?

Luna's chatter had slowed down, he realized. "That's really interesting," he said, though he had no clue what she'd been talking about other than it had something to do with Plimpies. "Where did you learn that?" he asked, and evidently it was the right thing to say, because she was off again and sounded almost happy. Or at least, not as subdued as when George had first run into her.

Well, for good or bad, he wasn't Fred. The Death Eater he'd seen was hopefully suffering horribly already, and he was here with a girl who was going through some difficult times, and if he could bring some kind of cheer into her life maybe that was a good thing. He tried to focus on her.

"So Daddy and I are both here now," she was saying. "I had hoped Daddy would let me help rebuild the magazine, but he's frightened of many of our writers." She trailed off, then focused on George, as if seeing him for the first time.

"How is your shop?"

"Wheezes? Doing well."

"Is it? Could I come by, once I'm allowed out?" she asked, and her eyes seemed lit up for the first time since he'd seen her. She was almost pretty in her own weird way, but now he was thinking of all the somewhat dangerous things in the shop that could be used to cause a fair amount of pain for men like the one he'd just seen--

"Of course," he said. "You'd be welcome." He cleared his throat, and asked Luna about her gnomes, pushing away all thoughts of the more violent Wheezes that could be used for all sorts of nefarious purposes. Wishing he could be fully here, talking to Luna, or back at the shop, or anywhere but in his own head right now, with violence wanting out. As though instead of being one person with two bodies, as he had often been with Fred, he was now two people in one.

*****

"You're mental. Runes instead of Charms?" said Fred, frowning at George's parchment.

"What? Runes is brilliant!"

"Not for what we're going to do, George," said Fred impatiently. "We've got to think of our future here, right?"

George sniggered. "Mum? Is that you?"

Fred snorted. "I'm serious, mate. We need Charms, Flitwick's brilliant, it's our best subject--"

"Yeah, it's our best subject. We could probably teach it. Besides, we're already taking Transfigurations and Potions and Herbology and bloody filling our time with the serious classes; can we not do something fun instead?"

"Runes? Fun?" said Lee in disbelief. "Since when?"

Fred rolled his eyes. "That's not the point, George. Yeah, I want to read Ethelbercht's Sensuals in the original Norse as much as you do, but come on."

"Well I can't believe you picked Charms on top of everything else we've got. We're not trying to outdo Percy, here."

"You just want to learn how to write dirty words in Futhark."

George chuckled. "Too right. Can't believe you don't."

"I don't want to waste my time, no matter how entertaining the course."

They glared at each other, and then blew out their breaths and gazed at their parchments.

"Toss a coin?" said George.

"You always cheat, you wanker," said Fred. He scowled at the parchment. "Too bad we can't be in two places at once."

Lee nodded and then blinked. "Hang on, what?" The twins looked at him, and he started to chuckle. "Bloody hell, you're not Siamese."

"What?"

"You can be two places at once, you know," he said, and his chuckle grew into a laugh at their baffled expressions.

"Charms and Runes are offered in the same period, Lee," said George patiently. "We've got to pick one or the other."

"No you don't, you daft gits," said Lee. "Here, let me help you. Fred, you take Charms. George, you take Runes."

The twins' eyebrows shot up and they gaped at Lee, who laughed even harder.

"You're pathetic. It honestly didn't occur to you?"

*****

It was odd, the things that were being found as the wizarding world rebuilt itself, and the odd ways they were being put to use.

In August, just as Wheezes went to gear itself up for the busiest time of the year, the volunteers rebuilding Hogwarts found a stash of powdered fairy dung in the Carrow's rooms. They had no earthly use for it, but Hermione, who was involved in rebuilding (as well as trying to read ahead for her delayed Seventh Year, helping house elves who had lost their masters in the war, and helping her parents get back to their real lives again) mentioned it to Percy, who mentioned it to Ron. Who suggested that Wheezes take it off the school's hands to George, while pretending it had nothing to do with trying to get him out of the shop. It had been a particularly bad day, a week after the visit to St. Mungo's: George had melted a cauldron, caused the Pygmy Puffs to perform a kind of frantic jig for about an hour, made half the WonderWitch products go from shocking pink to puce, almost disemboweled himself, and it wasn't even lunchtime yet.

"I'm so glad you can use this," said Hermione, greeting George at the Floo in McGonagall's office. "It's going to go to rot here otherwise. And frankly, we didn't know how to get rid of it."

"It's dead useful for Flashing Grins," said George, wishing he could feel some enthusiasm for it. "Why didn't you just send it to us by Floo, though?"

"There's nobody to send it, we're all quite busy."

"Huh." George didn't bother to point out that Hermione could've taken it through herself with far less loss of time than she was taking right now. It wasn't as though he was all that keen on being in the shop these days - other than in the testing lab, which was looking good to do him in one of these days if he didn't start being a hell of a lot more careful.

Inspecting the supplies and casting a charm to protect them from Floo ash didn't take much time, and soon enough they were heading back towards McGonagall's office, a large package floating along behind them.

"You know, now that you're here," said Hermione, "I wouldn't mind showing you some of what's been going on here. It's all come a long way since you were here last."

George nodded, and they left the package next to McGonagall's Floo. They walked through the castle, with Hermione pointing out places fixed and places still being rebuilt, and he tried not to flinch at each corner that screamed of him and Fred - the one-eyed witch, the pear you could tickle to get into the kitchens to get food from the house elves, the alcove where they'd hidden and cast a hex on Marcus Flint to give him boils on his arse the day before the Slytherin/Ravenclaw match...

Funny how much he'd wanted to stay here after the Battle. It should've felt horrible, remaining in the very place that had killed Fred, seeing their second home almost in ruins every day, but it had seemed necessary. Like there was something he needed to do here. Maybe help rebuild, heal the building as he couldn't heal Fred, maybe have a place where he could get used to being alone, maybe try to accept Fred's death as slowly as possible. Leaving had been a wrench.

But coming back was not pleasant either. Never mind that the school was mostly back on its feet; he felt nothing of what he'd felt in the first few days after the Battle. No comforting sense that his brother might just be busy on another floor.

"George, why don't we go to the library?" said Hermione, her voice just a tad too casual.

"Sure. For what?"

Hermione paused, then faced him and took a piece of parchment out of her pocket. "Erm. I've... I've got a list." She showed him. "Ron - I mean, you had mentioned that you were having some difficulties with your magic lately. So I thought I'd put together a list of topics you can maybe read up on, see if you can figure it out. I understand the St. Mungo's Healers are a little swamped right now."

George looked at her parchment. It was colour-coded, with a list of topics and possible sources of information: magical dysfunction, too much magic, grief, magical drain, sudden onset magical malaise.

He blinked. "Why in hell would I want to?" he said, and winced at her surprised, hurt look. "No, sorry." Bugger, he hated this; if Fred were here they would've just made a joke out of it and it would've been fine. "You're right, it's probably a good idea." He recalled Ron's relieved look as he'd pushed George into the Floo and out of the shop. "And it'll keep me busy, if nothing else," he muttered.

Hermione nodded, and they headed for the library. She smiled at him tentatively as they reached it. "Also, Ron says you've turned into a bit of a bookworm. You might just find something to read for fun."

She opened the doors, and he drew in his breath at its almost painful familiarity. Damn, there he went again. How many hours had they spent here, looking for new Potions ideas, Charms to use, ways to annoy Pince?

"Here," said Hermione, and flipped over the parchment, showing a map she'd made of the library's stacks, with circles around the ones that might hold resources for them. Defence Against the Dark Arts, Advanced Charms, Magical Theory, Medical Magic, Divination.

"Divination? What for?" asked George.

Hermione shrugged. "I'll admit, it's a long shot, but perhaps it's something we can try to figure out from the future. Look into the future to see whether you discover what's wrong, or are able to fix it."

George felt a stab in his chest. "And what if we find I didn't fix it?"

"It might be useful to see that, too," said Hermione, her mind still clearly fixed on the intellectual challenge and not fully registering what he'd said. "I don't think that's terribly likely, but if so, it might be better to simply concentrate our efforts on mitigating the effects."

George shook his head, dizzy all of a sudden. Damn. Damn. He was going to throw up, right in Madam Pince's cherished Advanced Charms section, because the idea of seeing the future filled him with cold dread.

"I've always thought Divination's pure bosh," he said harshly.

"Well, to be honest, so have I," said Hermione, a little startled. "I thought... you're usually fairly open-minded, though. It was just a suggestion."

"Thanks. Erm. I'll pass," said George, and hoped she couldn't hear his voice shaking. "Can I see that map?"

"Of course," she said. "Why don't you take this section, and I'll take Magical Theory?"

It was interesting, spending time with Hermione without Ron or Harry around. Watching her mind at work firsthand, instead of only hearing about it from his brother. They quickly discarded most of the books they found as useless, but within half an hour, they had a respectable stack growing next to them. He settled in to try to figure this out.

He was a bit distracted, though, and he glanced at the Divination shelves he'd shunned. Why had that bothered him so? Wouldn't it be good to find out he'd fixed this? And wasn't Hermione right, that if he found he hadn't, he might want to start figuring out what to do about it?

It wasn't that big a deal. Provided it didn't get worse, he could continue what he was doing long-term. He'd learned to live without an ear; he could learn to live without full control of his magic.

But what if he didn't see any future?

He shivered. That was ridiculous. Nobody died from magic dysfunction.

No, but they die of other things, said Fred-in-his-head helpfully, and George shushed him.

He didn't want to think of those other things. Such as Apparition or flying accidents, or lab accidents like the one that had killed Luna Lovegood's mother.

And he definitely didn't want to think of the surge of longing that rushed through him at the thought. He got a hold of himself and plunged into a Defence Against the Dark Arts text, looking for symptoms resembling his own.

Magical dysfunction that manifests itself in sudden bursts of unexpectedly strong magic

Magical drain: random lack of ability to do a spell previously mastered

Magical dysfunction that occurs when a witch or wizard is under emotional stress.

Well, he was emotionally stressed, but the bursts happened somewhat randomly.

Ah, a section on what kinds of spell malfunctions indicated what kinds of things might cause them:

Animal-controlling Spells - fear of the animal, or fear of animals in general

Enlarging Spells - lack of magical power, usually chronic

Ordering Spells - lack of motivation to do housework

General Transfiguration Spells - lack of confidence in self

Emotional charms - emotional turmoil

Potions - lack of attention

"This is bloody fucking ridiculous and completely useless," he said abruptly, slamming the book closed and causing Hermione to jump a bit. He pushed away his parchment.

"I beg your pardon?" Hermione said.

"I'm not afraid of animals, nobody likes to clean, emotional turmoil is right but it's not just emotion charms that are going wrong, nobody ever accused us of 'lack of confidence', our magical power is fine--" he cut himself off because Hermione had that look on her face. "All right, my magical power is fine," he amended.

"Would you mind if I keep looking?" asked Hermione cautiously.

"All right, fine." He took a breath and closed his eyes briefly. "Sorry. Didn't mean to bark at you like that." He glanced at his watch. "Listen, I'm sure Ron's not exactly missing me right now, but I do have to get back to the shop some time. Thanks for... thanks for your help."

Hermione nodded, and they organized and shrank down the rather large stack of books they'd ended up putting aside before he set off back home.

He shouldn't have snapped at her like that. She was only trying to help. And she was certainly far easier to deal with than other people who wanted to "help" him, like Mum. Or Bill or Charlie. Not that bad to be around. Pretty in her own way, too. He could certainly see why Ron had fallen for her.

Pretty. Hermione Granger. When I said that once, you nearly pissed yourself laughing. You are in serious need of some distraction, mate.

Would you like me to consider Angelina pretty, then?

If it was possible for a hallucinated voice to project sheepish silence, somehow Fred-in-his-head was doing just that right now.

George blew out his breath in irritation. What the hell was with him, anyway, all of a sudden noticing girls the way he was? He didn't have time for anything romantic these days, and nothing to offer anybody anyway. Besides... seriously? Angelina? Luna Lovegood? Hermione Granger?

You need a girlfriend, mate.

I don't need a girlfriend, Fred.

Boyfriend, then.

Shut up, Fred.

All right, then, someone you can talk to.

Why?

It can be good to talk to somebody. Helps, sometimes, you know?

Since when?

Oi, I talked to Lee, you know.

Right. Now I know I'm imagining you. You and I were never ones for sharing our innermost thoughts with anyone.

We never had to, George.

We went through some pretty shitty things.

We had each other, though.

Yeah, well, so much for that.

*****

"Awake?" George yawned, shuffling into the kitchen around three in the morning and finding Fred at the table, a long-cold cup of tea by his side and a long piece of parchment in front of him with a dozen doodles marching down the margins.

"You all right?" asked Fred.

"Yeah," said George. "Couldn't sleep, though. Somebody probably woke me up."

"Sorry," said Fred, not sounding particularly sorry. "Had a thought for the Allentebber contract."

"You're working on that?"

"Yeah," said Fred, doodling on the parchment some more.

"Impressive," said George, examining the doodle. "Add a beard to Mrs. Allentebber's moustache. They'll be sure to give us the discount then."

Fred flicked a piece of Puff feed at him.

George went to get himself some warm milk. "Want any?"

"No thanks."

George stumbled a bit and stifled a curse.

"You all right?" said Fred.

"Yeah, just dizzy."

"When's your next appointment?"

"Next week, Mum," George muttered. "The Healer said there's not much she can do. Tonks is helping. It's getting better."

Fred shook his head. "I still don't want you going on the trip out to Harkness next week."

George set the milk bottle down with a thump. "What? It's my turn! You did the last mission."

"'Mnot the one who might fall off a broom, Lugless," said Fred. "Why don't you just sit back and let the uninjured do the rest of the dirty work in this war?"

"Uninjured, my arse," George retorted. "I'm not the one who has screaming nightmares, mate."

Fred's eyes went blank, and George kicked himself. "Think I'll go see if I can sleep a bit more," Fred said, standing up.

"Fred--"

"Night." Fred started out the door.

"Oi, Fred." Fred paused but didn't turn around. "You haven't finished the contract, you lazy sod. Turns out I'm knackered after all. I'll take your morning shift, yeah?"

Fred took a breath and then turned around, accepting the olive branch being held out to him. "All right, fine. Go to bed. God knows you need all the beauty sleep you can get, not that it helps at all."

George chuckled and headed off, but reflected as he got back to bed that it would be really, really nice if he and Fred could deal with the ear thing like mature adults. He wished they could talk about how Fred was too overprotective of George since it happened, or talk about how George didn't want to be coddled or fussed over, and felt like he needed to prove himself. Or talk about something, anyway.

It would also be completely foreign to them. Besides, denial and teasing each other had worked so far. With any luck, if his ear was the worst they had to deal with in this war, he'd say they were going to do all right.

*****

George wasn't getting better. If anything, he felt worse. The dreariness, the flirting with thoughts of nothingness, the emptiness, just seemed to get heavier. Like there was something dead inside him. Or at least something that wanted to be dead. Something sucking what little life he had left in him, and some days, keeping up the cheerful front for his friends and family and customers was more than he could take.

"Come out with me and Angelina," said Lee.

"Too busy," said George, and disappeared into his lab.

"You're too thin. Come to The Burrow for dinner," said Mum.

"Expecting a big shipment early tomorrow," said George.

The excuses were getting flimsier, and the expressions on the faces of his friends and family were getting old. And there wasn't much he could do about it, other than avoid them and work and bury himself in books. He was reading phenomenal amounts of material these days: practical stuff for the shop, occasional swipes at his magical dysfunction problem, and even just reading for fun. Hermione was impressed.

Even the shop was seeing less and less of him these days. The more the shop flourished, the more the bright colours strobed and the more customers came and went, the less they all saw George. He produced and tested a phenomenal amount of merchandise, magic dysfunction or not, but nobody had really spent any significant time with him in weeks.

And when they did see him...

"George, you have to do something about this," said Charlie, who had dropped in unannounced and uninvited - along with Percy, Ginny, Harry and Hermione, oh joy - telling George he was only in London for the weekend and was going to take his younger siblings out, no excuses brooked.

George nodded irately, peering at the puddled remains of twenty-three batches of Slush Puppies on the storage room floor. He looked up at the ceiling, which was still dripping and yelping sporadically. Marvellous.

"What were you trying to do?" asked Hermione,

"Package them," he said, rubbing at a bloody spot on his hand where a Slush Puppie had bitten him before dissolving. "I've been doing it by hand, but it's a bloody nuisance."

"You were trying to levitate them into the boxes?"

"Yeah. Won't be trying that one again." He glanced at Charlie. "I told you I was too busy to go anywhere, didn't I? This is why."

"You can get Verity and Naomi to finish up here," said Charlie.

"Absolutely, Mr. Weasley, it's no problem," said Verity. "I'll stay late and start brewing a replacement set."

"I can stay too, Mr. Weasley," Naomi chimed in. "It won't take more than a few minutes to clean up."

"Come on," said Charlie. "I told you, we're going out. I've made reservations."

"Where?"

Charlie hesitated a moment, then lifted his chin and announced, "At the London Dungeon."

They all gaped at him. "For all of us?" asked Ron, glancing over the group crowded into George's gloop-filled storage room. "There's seven of us, mate. That's going to be steep."

"D'you mean the Muggle amusement park?" asked Harry. "My cousin used to go there. You know about it?"

"Yeah, it's brilliant," said Ron. "Dad took each of us there for our tenth birthdays, but he couldn't afford to do it more than once. So Charlie started taking us when he started work at the dragon reserve."

"I promised I'd take all you little ones again, you and all your significant others, once the war was over, even though you're not so little any more," said Charlie. "D'you remember, Fred said he didn't believe me, and I was a lying tosser who'd try to worm his way out of it if we did win?" The others laughed, and George felt a stab in his chest. Charlie glanced at George. "Why don't we invite Angelina too? And Lee, too, if you'd like. I'm going to prove Fred wrong."

"Very funny, Charlie," said George. The others' laughter petered off.

"George." Charlie took a moment. "I'm not trying to be disrespectful. I just think we don't talk about Fred much. We don't do things that might have included him. Maybe we should. Maybe we shouldn't forget him."

"That's a marvellous idea, Charlie," said George. "Yeah, no really. And the moment I can talk about him without wanting to off myself, I'll be thrilled to join your little romps through Sibling Nostalgialand. Till then, though, you won't mind if I excuse myself? I have some cleaning to do."

"God, George," said Ginny. "He's only trying to help."

"Did you mean what you just said?" asked Hermione. "About--"

"Topping myself?" George rolled his eyes. "No, I just said that because I thought it would be terribly funny - you know, light-hearted and totally appropriate humour, so you'd all stop worrying about me and looking at me like I'm about to shatter. Did it work?"

Silence.

"S'ppose not. Well, I've got things to do, so if you don't mind--"

"George, we're only trying to help," said Charlie.

"Didn't ask for your help, did I?"

"You--"

"No, seriously. I didn't ask you to help me, did I? I'm not asking you to invite me out all the time. I dunno if you've noticed, but I don't invite any of you back to our - to my place either. That's because you're not welcome there. Got it?" He glared at them all. "Ron works here. You lot don't. I don't want you here. I don't know how to make this any clearer."

He turned and went down to the cleaning supplies room, ignoring the fact that his family were all staring at him.

George, what the fuck was that?

Oh shut up, he told Fred-in-his-head. Shut up. Unless you want me to join you, bugger off and leave me alone. Your body already did it; do me a favour and let your voice do it too.