Leave Out All the Rest

Author's Note: Thanks so much, XenaTwin, for your lovely review. You made my day!

September

"I've told you, I don't care about that!" Fred's voice could be heard from the bottom of the stairs as Lee and George opened the door.

"I do!" Angelina's furious voice could be heard from a mile away too, and George and Lee winced. "My parents don't want me with you, Fred! That's all there is to it. And I'm not going to against them just because they're wrong. I would, maybe, if you weren't being an idiot who's going to get himself killed, or if you were in love with me or asking me to marry you, but Merlin, Fred, you left school without even telling me!"

"Bloody hell, are you ever going to stop bringing that up?!"

"NO! Go to hell!" A door opened, and slammed shut. George and Lee hastily stepped back as Angelina came storming down the stairs and pushed past them without a word. They shared a doubtful look and then heard a crash from the flat. George sighed and headed up the stairs.

He was halfway up before Fred came out of the flat and started down the stairs. He went past George and Lee with only a grunt of acknowledgement and continued down towards the cellar.

"You all right, mate?" said George as he went past.

"Fine," Fred bit out. "Fucking fantastic. Also, single again. I'm going to get more larkspur for the Phillies. Don't go into the flat; I threw a rather expensive bottle of Veela Vodka against the wall. I'll clean it later, so we don't smell like a distillery."

George let him go.

"Ouch," said Lee some moments later.

"Yeah."

"Didn't see that one coming from a mile away like the Hogwarts Express with a troll riding on top of it."

"Utter and complete surprise to me, too."

"What now, then?" asked Lee.

George looked at his watch. "Eleven thirty. The Hopping Hippogriff will be in full swing."

"And if he says he doesn't want to go?"

"He can only say that if we ask him," said George.

"Are we going to Side-along him, then?"

"D'you have a better idea?"

*****

"Mum sent you, didn't she?" George said as soon as he opened the door.

Lee shook his head, smiling, though his heart sank a bit. Not the best way to start the visit. "Why? Can't a mate drop by to say hello?"

"Yeah. Of course." George smirked. "Nice timing, though."

Lee sighed, and entered the flat. Mrs. Weasley had said George seemed "distant" and "prickly", and there had been some sort of blow-up with his brother Charlie the other day, and he supposed he was now going to find out what all of that meant. He glanced about the flat, noting the books piled all over everything. The place was otherwise ridiculously clean and tidy, and Lee kicked himself for letting George's excuses keep him from visiting more often. George didn't want people near him, and Lee could understand that, but the flat looked like all he ever did was sleep and read here. No inventions, no magazines, no half-baked projects hanging off every shelf.

Nothing like when he and Fred had lived here together.

Once again he wished George had said yes when Lee had asked to move in. But the look on George's face, the barely suppressed panic at having someone other than Fred in their space, had disabused him of the idea almost immediately.

"Where are you getting all these books?" Lee asked, glancing at the closest pile. When Magic Goes Wrong, The Adventures of Cassandra the Curious Cormorant, On Death and Dying, and Pickle Potions. Interesting.

"Mostly Hermione. She Owls them out to me."

"You never did much reading before," said Lee. "Other than for developing Wheezes."

George shrugged, taking out two goblets and some Firewhisky. "D'you want a drink, or did Mum also tell you she thinks I'm drinking too much?"

Lee shrugged as well. "Yeah, she's probably worried. Didn't say anything about my drinking, though, so go ahead and pour."

George gave him a humourless smile and poured for both of them.

"So how are you?" said Lee, once they were sitting, glasses poured.

George shrugged again. "Well enough, I suppose. The shop's doing good business."

"I've heard."

"How's the Wireless treating you?"

Before Lee could stop himself, he was being drawn out into a long, detailed discussion about his radio contract, of all things. He had to admire George's talent in deflecting anything to do with him. He glanced at the spot on the living room wall where Fred had once thrown a bottle of Veela Vodka that had left a pungent odour of roses and seagulls in the place for weeks afterwards. From the vodka or from the cleaning solution, Lee had never remembered to ask.

"How's Megan?" George asked, startling Lee.

"Megan? Oh, gone. Last month."

George nodded, no reaction to not having heard from Lee in that long a time. "Rotten luck, mate."

"It wasn't going to go anywhere. She's from a pureblood family. They didn't want a Half-blood in-law."

George's eyebrows went up. "Still, now?"

"Yeah, still, now. You ought to know. Blood status matters."

"Never mattered to us," said George.

"I'm not that into girls anyway, you know that," said Lee. "What about you? Seeing anyone?"

George chuckled. "When would I?"

"Point. Still, don't you ever go out anywhere?"

"Nah, don't feel like it."

Lee glanced around the flat and briefly considered telling George it was deeply creepy to be in the home of a bloke who lived alone and had his place looking so spotless it made Lee itch to spill something in it.

No, probably not a good way to get him to let his guard down.

"The truth is, I do have a nefarious purpose for coming here," he admitted. "Remember how Monica from Eeylops quit and went to work for a Muggle who designs games? She says he's getting ready to market it to Muggles, and she wants to see if it could sell to wizards as well. You still have the Muggle corner in the shop, right?"

"Yeah."

"D'you want to test it? It's about building little cities and roads and things. No magic, just little tiles."

George's head tilted to the side, and his eyes lit up. "Really? No magic at all?"

"None. Oh and she wants to test whether anybody can put magic into it. Either to cheat at it, or to expand it for the wizarding market."

Percy had said that George was fine as long as you could get him doing something. "Let's sit and chat" was right out; "let's do something totally unrelated to talking" just might work.

And, good, excellent, George was relaxing and sitting forward, eager to see Monica's game. Please, let me not fuck this up, thought Lee, as he explained the game to George and set up the pieces, and they began to play.

Bless Percy, this had been a good idea, thought Lee as the game progressed and George started to get into it. Though it was odd, still, to do something like this without Fred here. Lee felt a sharp pang of loss as he suddenly got a very vivid image of Fred and George both bending their heads over the pieces, flicking the tiles at each other, maybe casting spells on them to make them change design.

It wasn't fair. Suddenly all Lee wanted was his friend back. The friend who would've made it impossible to actually help Monica, because the tiles would've ended up a congealed mess, most probably stuck to the table, and the players would've ended up with major hangovers the next morning. With Fred there, Lee's report to Monica would've been something along the lines of "my fellow testers agreed there aren't enough breasts and firm, rounded buttocks on the tiles, the monasteries should get plagues every so often, oh and they've rigged the city walls to randomly explode. Also, sorry about turning all the roads sparkling pink."

But those days were gone. Lee cleared his throat and brought his attention back to the table, where a bunch of small towns were taking shape, and concentrated on the game.

Much later, the last tile finally placed, he wrote down some of their observations and put away the tiles as George poured some more Firewhisky. Only their third goblets so far; the game had improved George's mood even without alcohol. Lee gazed at him, weighing his mood. Relaxed, as he hadn't been when Lee had come in. As he probably hadn't been when he was near his family, for a long, long time. Perhaps he should suggest board games to the Weasleys.

Here went nothing, then. This would either get George to open up, or completely shut down. "So, seriously, mate," said Lee. "How are you?"

"What d'you mean?"

"George, please," Lee said, and finished putting the tiles in their box.

"What, you think now, catching me off my guard, I'll let you in on how I'm doing? Dirty pool, mate."

"Want some more Firewhisky?"

"D'you want me to have more?"

"Would it help?"

"Dunno." George grinned. "Might."

Lee picked up his goblet and downed it in one go. He coughed. "Don't give me the same rubbish you give your family, mate."

George's eyes narrowed. "Don't you give me the same rubbish they give me, then," he said, his smile becoming less friendly.

Lee blew out his breath. "Look, I just want to know, all right? You won't talk to them--"

"Trust me, they wouldn't like what I'd have to say."

"Why's that?"

George frowned at him. "Look, it's rough, and it's going to be rough, all right? Let it go."

Let it go, he said. Bugger this for a game of soldiers, they'd all been letting it go, and it hadn't done George any good. "Why wouldn't they want to hear that?"

"You tell me."

"This is like talking to a Sphinx, y'know," Lee groused, and George smirked at him.

"You never could weasel anything out of us, y'know."

"What is that, a point of pride for you?"

"Shouldn't it be? Besides, you're a journalist, right? If you want a story, you have to work for it."

"Then what can I do?" Lee asked, and dropped the easy banter. "George. Your mum's dead worried about you, and so's your sister, and I can see why. You've lost weight, you're a nasty bugger, and you're never far from a drink."

George drew up an eyebrow.

"Your mum's scary, George. Sorry, but you saw her with Bellatrix Lestrange. And your sister - I don't care what you say, I may be a Gryffindor but I've got a healthy respect for Weasley women and I'd really rather keep my bollocks where they are." He gave George a tentative smile. "I get the feeling if I let them down the Aurors'll never find my body."

"So avoid them," George said evenly. "Works like a charm for me."

Lee scowled. "I just want to know if I should be telling your mum she's off her nut or not! All right? I want to know if I can tell her you're fine, and know it's true, or if I'm going to lose the only best friend I've got left!"

George glared at Lee.

Lee closed his eyes briefly, gathering himself. "Look, it doesn't compare to what you lost. I know that. What you lost, I can't even imagine, and I knew you both better than anybody else including your own family. I was there, I saw what happened, I was with you right after, I want to help." He paused to steady his voice. "I need to know if you're thinking of topping yourself and I need you to be honest with me and not give me the shite you give your family - and it's fucking dirty pool but I'm asking you, for Fred's sake, to be honest with me."

George stared at him darkly.

"Think what Fred would want," Lee said quietly.

"I don't know and I don't care what Fred would want," George said softly, dangerously.

"You do know, and you care."

There was a long, long silence, and Lee waited on edge, trying to read George's expressionless face.

George sat back. "Right. You want to know." George laughed softly. "All right, then. I'm a fucking mess."

Lee swallowed hard. "How much of a mess?"

George stirred his drink, then moved his hand away and wandlessly made the swizzle stick dance in the twinkling light. Lee forced his eyes away from the mesmerizing display of amber light.

"How much of a mess?" he insisted.

George shrugged. "Enough of one."

"Your mum. Is she... should she be worried?"

Long silence.

"Yeah. Probably."

Longer silence, and Lee tried to feel his way through this. God, it was like walking through a minefield. Help me, Fred, he thought fervently. God, what would Fred have done? He cleared his throat. "Why?"

George shrugged.

"She's afraid you'll... hurt yourself."

"I know."

"Will you?"

George shrugged again.

Lee braced himself. "Have you thought about it?"

George nodded slowly.

"What do you think about?"

George shrugged again. "Dunno. Maybe about not having to... not having to miss him any more."

Lee let out a slow breath. "Anything else?"

"Like what?"

"Have you done anything about it?"

"What, ending it?" George said lightly. "I'm still here, right?"

"You're drinking a hell of a lot. You've shut everybody out." Lee floundered about, casting for his reporter voice. God, what a time to have his eloquence leave him. "What else have you done? Made any plans?"

"All the time. It's not a passing fancy."

"Like what plans?"

"Did you know I'm three floors up here?" George said lightly, and then he swallowed hard. "It's... I'm tired. So fucking tired." He rested his elbows on the table and propped his chin in his hands, and Lee was forcibly reminded of George and Fred trying to come to terms with their lifelong Quidditch ban. They'd been so bloody angry, full of impotent rage at the unfairness, and Lee would've given anything for that to be the case again. For there to be two identical faces, both sitting the same way, same set expressions in their eyes. Of course then they wouldn't be in this mess.

"Cry myself to sleep almost every night," George admitted softly. "It's... it's really hard, knowing it's been another day and there's not much to look forward to tomorrow. I've done it for one more day, but I don't want to wake up and do it all again. And I don't want to go to sleep, it doesn't help." He took a shaking breath and Lee shivered at the eerily soft tone of his voice. "I wake up from nightmares where he dies and it's not a relief when I wake up, y'know, because I dream about it a different way every time and it's really weird, you know, like I've got to figure out a more dramatic way because remember Percy found us and I'd just said 'I wonder where Fred ended up' and Percy was there and he was crying, and I could tell--" Lee shuddered, remembering how Percy's weeping had felt like a kick in the groin, how George's wand had fallen from his hand as his smile of recognition turned to open-mouthed shock without Percy having said a word.

George was still speaking, and Lee had lost the thread - "... like it wasn't dramatic enough, like I had to see it, so I do, and then I wake up and I know that's not how it happened but it's no better at all because even if he wasn't slashed to bits or blown up or AK'd he's just as dead, but you know, that's not the worst of them..." he trailed off, took a deep breath, closed his eyes briefly.

"The worst is when I dream he's not dead. I'm going mental," he whispered. "He's not dead, almost every other night, everything's all back to normal and then I wake up and I bloody well can't face it any more and the only thing that helps is getting so smashing drunk I can't remember what I've dreamed about and wake up spewing instead of crying - again." He took a deep breath. "I'm so fucked."

"What d'you do when you wake up?"

"Mostly just lie there till I can face the day, or take a few potions."

"Have you done anything?"

"Like what?"

"More than making plans?" George's startled eyes met his before he looked back down, and the swizzle stick began its dance again. "Have you?" Lee insisted, and held his breath, waiting for the answer.

"Yeah."

"Like what?"

George closed his eyes, seeming to shrink into himself.

"You've... what've you done? Have you hurt yourself? Made any serious attempt?" Lee could almost feel Fred next to him, see the angry, scared look on his face, feel his need to somehow, somehow reach through George's defences, past where nobody had gone.

"Yeah."

"What have you done?"

George met his eyes and then looked down. Slowly pushed his sleeve up a bit, then hesitated, then pushed it up further and whispered Finite Incantatem, and Lee's stomach turned over.

George's arm was an unholy mess.

Freckled skin faded away and exposed a mass of scar tissue, and Lee swallowed bile as George pushed the sleeve farther up and Lee saw that the scar tissue reached up to his elbow and beyond, and it looked rather creative - burns, small cuts, ragged gashes, sores, all sorts of things that Lee thought he was used to seeing, from back when Fred and George were hard at work inventing and producing. They'd sometimes been a bit of a mess during peak times at the shop, but this--

The testing lab. The fucking testing lab. Bloody hell.

Lee sucked in his breath as George pulled the sleeve back down over the cuts, and on instinct he reached out, grabbed George's other hand and pushed the sleeve up there - shit, same story, and he looked up at George's scared eyes.

"Is that all, or is that just the bit where you want to know if I'm going to bolt out of here?"

George frowned.

"Is there anything else?"

George looked away, tugging his hand from Lee's, and Lee shifted closer. "Did you bloody well hurt yourself anywhere else? Burn anything else? Take any poisons - fuck, why am I bothering to ask you, you and Fred used to do this for a lark, didn't you? To see how tough you were, what you could sell to other people--"

"Not much of a lark any more," George said quietly.

"No, it's not. And you two always worked together when you testing or making dangerous things. And you always healed anything that went wrong. You've... you don't let Ron into the testing lab, do you?"

George shook his head.

"And it's not just because you don't want him to try to replace Fred," Lee said, his mind whipping way ahead, seeing all the excuses George must have given Ron, and himself. "And it's not just because you don't want him to get suspicious wounds that the Ministry might come to investigate, and it's not because he's got shoddy Charms work. Is it? How many reasons have you made to keep him out of the lab?"

George shook his head again.

"Fuck!" said Lee. "You stupid wanker, you've always been pants at healing spells and I'll bet you good money that's another reason you've kept Ron out, isn't it? Because he's being taught healing at the Aurors? God, why am I even asking?" He swallowed. "Is there anything else?"

George shrugged. "It's not all from - some of it really is from testing products from before, I mean--"

"Like that makes any difference," Lee said angrily, and realized he wasn't going to be able to hold back the bile rising in his throat, not even wanting to imagine what else George's clothing was covering. He turned away barely in time to avoid spewing on George's shoes, keeping a shaking hand on George's as his stomach heaved over and over.

"God," he spat, shuddering. "Stupid bastard, how could you--" he retched again and George started to pull away.

"NO! You arse, don't you dare--" Lee heaved again, tightening his grip on George's arm. He spat again, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and sat up shakily. "FUCK. Don't you dare pull away. You showed me, you trusted me enough to let me know and don't you dare bugger off now, just because I've gone and spewed on your floor. You've probably done worse, haven't you? Bled and spewed all over the place and then just spelled it away?"

George shrugged.

"Jesus, George. Oh Jesus, why the hell didn't you tell anybody?" Lee pulled George close, shaking, and George stayed stiff in his arms while Lee tried to pull himself together. "Merlin, forget your mum and Ginny, Fred'll come back from beyond and haunt me for the rest of my life if I let you pull away now."

George laughed, a shaky, uncertain sound, and Lee sat back, keeping a hand on him.

"George, you need help. Serious help, mate, we've got to get you to St. Mungo's or something." He gripped harder as George shook his head, and cursed himself as his voice broke. "I can't help you - I mean I'll go with you, I'll be there every bloody step of the way but I can't - I don't know what the hell I'm doing, mate, I'm just a stupid reporter, this is way beyond anything I can do. God, please, just--" and he wiped away the tears that were starting to spill from his eyes. "God, please, mate, forget your mum and the rest of your family. This is you we're talking about, you need help so fucking badly it's a miracle you're still alive."

George hesitated, then nodded shakily.

"All right." Lee wiped at his mouth again. "God. Let's go. I'll Apparate us both-"

"No, I-"

"Right, we'll pack first-"

"No I don't want to-"

"I know you don't want to! But you're not in any shape to decide anything! Merlin, you've got your mum worried that you're losing weight and feeling blue, when what you're actually doing is trying to commit Suicide By Joke Shop, George, for fuck's sake!"

George chuckled shakily. "OK."

"OK." Lee breathed again. "OK. Let's pack some stuff for you. I think, erm," Lee swallowed, waved his wand at the mess he'd made on the floor. "Ugh. All right, some changes of clothing. Anything else?"

George shrugged and moved off, and Lee felt an odd disconnect watching him automatically smooth down his sleeves and whisper a word to put the glamour back on, then look around his flat and pack a few changes of clothing, toothbrush, hairbrush--

"Should we call anyone in your family?" Lee asked.

George shuddered and shook his head.

"In case the hospital wants to know."

"Percy," George said after a moment.

"All right. I'll Owl him after we're there, all right?"

"I'm all right, Lee," George said quietly.

"No you're bloody well not."

George shrugged. "I am right now."

Lee shook his head. "Bloody hell, mate. This is just not on, d'you understand me? Not on at all. Let's go."

*****

"He's just been being a bit careless," said Healer Radstone, the St. Mungo's psychiatrist. Psychiatrist, noted Arthur. Not Cheering Charms Specialist. "He's taken a few risks he shouldn't have. Unfortunately we've seen this rather a lot since the war; some people get a bit paranoid and over-cautious, others take things a bit too far in the other direction. It's good when they come in before it gets out of hand, like George did," he told them reassuringly. "You should be very proud of him. He's got a good support system, and he's got good insight into his own motivations and danger zones. He'll be fine."

"They were always invincible," said Molly, her voice thick with tears. "How could... they were always so strong, together."

"He's still strong," said Healer Radstone. "This has nothing to do with strength. There are many things he could have coped with; losing his twin just wasn't one of them."

"I should have separated them," said Molly. "Made them be more independent when they were growing up."

"We tried, Molly," said Arthur. "They wouldn't let us. When they were babies, they wouldn't sleep in separate cribs. When they were older, we couldn't take one anywhere without the other one."

"This isn't your fault, Mrs. Weasley," said the Healer gently. "And you won't help George any if you go in there with the attitude that you've done something wrong - or that he has. He's done the responsible thing, coming here."

"But... you won't even tell us why he had to come here. What happened?"

"He simply felt that he couldn't keep himself safe at home. His friend Lee helped him to see that coming in here might be beneficial."

"Why couldn't he come home? We'd take care of him--"

"Mrs. Weasley," Radstone broke in. "He's not a child. He doesn't need to be taken care of by his parents. He's a grown man."

"But what can you do that we can't?"

"We can give him a safe place to deal with his grief without feeling as though he has to be careful of anybody else's. No disrespect intended, Mrs. Weasley, but you are also suffering from Fred's loss. George either cannot, or feels he cannot, burden you with his own problems."

"It wouldn't be a burden--"

"Mrs. Weasley," the Healer broke in again, his tone becoming impatient. "I will not allow you to see him if you cannot accept that this is where he wants to be, and needs to be."

Molly swallowed. "Yes. Yes, of course." She cleared her throat. "When can we see him?"

Radstone hesitated. "I would like to suggest that Mr. Weasley come in first. Then you can come in, if it's all right with George."

"Of course," said Arthur, and Molly stared at him. "It'll only take a moment, Molly," he said. "We don't want to overwhelm him, right?"

Molly sat back.

"Come this way," said the Healer, and led Arthur down a short hallway, stopping at the third door on the left. "George?" the Healer said, knocking on the door, then pushed it open to reveal a small, cosy yellow and white room. George was on his single bed, a copy of The Prophet before him. He sat up as Arthur came in, looking at his father warily.

"George, thank God," said Arthur, and enfolded his son in a hug.

George hugged him back, hard. "I'm sorry, Dad," he said quietly.

Arthur shook his head. "It's all right, you've got nothing to be sorry about." He pulled back a bit, keeping an arm around George's shoulders. "Your mum's here." He paused. "We weren't sure - Healer Radstone and I - if you'd want her to come in."

George frowned. "Why?"

"She's having a difficult time understanding why you're here," he said. "She's not angry at you - far from it. But Healer Radstone wasn't sure it would be a good idea for her to come in. What with her probably wanting to ask you a million questions you might not feel like answering."

George scowled. "Dad, I'm not a complete invalid," he said stiffly. "I can take Mum's questions."

Arthur hesitated. "She'll also most probably ask you to come back to The Burrow."

George's eyes widened and he looked away, obviously trying not to visibly recoil.

"George, you don't have to," said Arthur. "I don't think you should. Unless you want to." George gave him a cautious glance. "It didn't do you any good to be cooped up with us right after the Battle. If this is where you need to be to feel better, I'm behind you. Muggles are very much into going into the hospital when they're having troubles like this, did you know?"

George gave him a small smile. "Yeah, Lee said something like that." He took a deep breath. "You don't mind? That I'm here?"

Arthur shook his head, his throat tight. "Do you want Mum here?"

George nodded.

"All right, then." Arthur stood, going to the door and gesturing to the Healer. Molly made her way into the room, her eyes overflowing as soon as she saw George.

"Georgie," she whispered, and took him into her arms.

*****

"You'll come visit tomorrow?" said Fred, his tone too casual to be casual. Though George was sure that if called on it, Fred would attribute the tone to all the hair that was supposed to be on his head growing out of his nose instead.

"Yeah," said George. "Of course."

"Going to be dead boring here," Lee sympathized. "Weird that nobody's here overnight tonight. Every time I've stayed over, there's been at least three other kids here too."

"Ah, it'll give me time to be alone with my thoughts," said Fred with a barely-visible grin.

"You gonna use your left hand or your right hand for that?" said Lee.

"Weasley, Jordan, it's past time to clear off," Madam Pomfrey called from her desk. "Go on with you now."

George and Lee nodded and turned to go, but George stopped short of the door. "Oh, hang on - no, actually, go on ahead, Lee, I'll be right there, only we have to agree on what we're going to tell Mum."

Lee nodded and gave Fred a wave and then headed out.

"You'll be all right?" George asked.

"Yeah," said Fred cheerfully

I know you're scared, George wanted to say. I'd be scared. Neither of us has ever slept so far away from everybody else.

But he couldn't. They were twelve. Any of their mates would piss themselves laughing if they suspected either Fred or George was scared of sleeping alone.

Besides, maybe Fred didn't mind.

"Wish you could stay," said Fred. "It'll be deadly dull."

"I could ask," said George.

"Nah, Lee'll be lonely. Go home."

"'Night, Fred."

This was different from George's stay at St. Mungo's at age five. Fred was seven years older than they had been. He would not spend the entire night shaking in terror at the strange sounds, at the wrongness of being in the dark without his twin. And George was not going to go home and then spend the night making everyone around him miserable until the staff agreed to let him stay at the hospital too, the way Fred had.

They were big boys. They could handle a bit of discomfort. Besides, Pomfrey had said Fred would most likely be out tomorrow or the day after, depending on how long it took the potion to work.

He pasted a smile on and ran to catch up with Lee.

*****

Finally, finally, the visit was nearing an end. It was strange, thought George, how he used to love being with other people, especially his family. Now, a two hour visit with his parents had drained him completely.

Mum stood up as the mediwitch on duty tapped her watch. "So, tomorrow when we come--"

George felt a pang of alarm. "No, Mum it's all right. You don't need to visit every day."

"Oh don't worry, dear, it's no bother."

"By which I mean I'd really rather you don't."

Silence.

"Oh."

George winced at the hurt in his mother's voice. "Damn. Sorry, I'm - they've got me on all sorts of potions, I'm a bit off." He cleared his throat. "Another reason you probably shouldn't come visit too much."

"What are they giving you?"

George shrugged. "Things to make me want to eat again, help me sleep." Help me not want to drink.

"That's good, dear. That's good."

"I'm pretty tired, Mum. I'm glad you came, but... not too much all at once, yeah?"

"But everyone... everyone has asked to see you. Can they..."

"Mum, I don't know, I'm... I'd really rather not. I mean, if it's Percy or Ron, that's all right. But honestly, other than that, I'd really rather not. I'll see everyone when I get out."

"When will you get out?"

George shrugged. "I dunno, Mum. Whenever the Healers say it's a good idea." Can't make a guess about that, don't have a lot of experience being locked up in a mental ward, he thought, but had the good sense not to say out loud.

Mum nodded. "All right, dear. That's... that's something to look forward to then, all right?"

George nodded tiredly. Look forward to. Yes.

*****

"You weren't intentionally hurting yourself, which is good," said the Healer Radstone at George's first session after being fully assessed. "You were doing what you have always done, at work at least, which is also good. I'm not calling this a case of self-harm."

George frowned. "Is that good or bad?"

"Well, self-harm is a serious thing. People do it for many reasons. For example, to stop the pain they feel inside by replacing it with pain they feel outside; or to feel as though they have some control over their lives, if only with respect to the pain they can cause themselves; or to punish themselves for perceived failures. All sorts of reasons, really."

George gave him a skeptical look.

"I don't think those reasons apply here. You simply continued to do what you have always done, but with less concern for health and safety than before."

"You mean... because we always almost killed ourselves in the lab as a regular part of our lives, I'm not a nutter? And that's a good thing?"

The psychiatrist pressed his lips together. "I wouldn't put it quite like that."

"I am a nutter, then."

Radstone rolled his eyes. "No, that isn't what I meant. What I meant is that it would be somewhat more concerning to me if you had gone from never hurting yourself, to doing so deliberately."

"All right. So having 'less concern for health and safety' is better, then?"

The psychiatrist looked rather uncomfortable. "I wouldn't say that, necessarily. You could have done yourself serious permanent damage." He paused, fidgeting with his quill. "Unfortunately, we'll both simply have to excuse my inexperience here; wizarding psychiatry is in its infancy, and a lot of what I'm working with comes from Muggle research and practice. Which does not, strictly speaking, always translate well into our world."

"What d'you mean?"

"Well, the thing is, risk-taking and self-harm to this degree in a Muggle would be cause for much alarm, as Muggles cannot heal as we do. That said, perhaps it's more alarming because you could have healed yourself, and didn't."

"I'm not terribly good at healing charms. And I'd already been here too many times."

"Yes, fair enough. Also, what you were doing was something fairly easy for you to justify to yourself as simply going about with daily business. If you were, say, cutting yourself, there would be no excuse for it, but the fact that testing products is part of your livelihood..." he sighed.

"You don't know what the hell to think, do you?"

Radstone pressed his lips together. "No. I don't."

"Are there any other wizard psychiatrists you could go to for a second opinion?"

"I am the only wizard currently practicing psychiatry," said Radstone with a thin smile. "So, no."

George nodded. "Marvellous."

*****

It was good to not be in the shop. It was good to not have to deal with relatives dropping in on him randomly, and he'd insisted on a maximum of one visit per day. Ron and Percy had been all right; Mum, not so much. Plus apparently she was on a tear because it seemed quite a few people had suspected he'd been in trouble, but she hadn't seen it, and apparently it was their fault for not telling her.

And then The Prophet got in on it.

Hogwarts Hero in Trouble? Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes Surviving Owner Checks In to St. Mungo's!

George groaned as he caught the headline at breakfast. It was on page three, so hopefully it wouldn't be read by everybody and their Kneazle, but still. That was going to make a bit of a dent in their business. He pushed away his breakfast and went back to bed, only to be wakened an hour later by an apologetic mediwitch saying that Verity had sent an urgent message: they needed to access the vault to buy more ingredients, since there had been a huge surge in customers.

Any publicity is good publicity, thought George bleakly. The idea of anyone buying his products because they thought he was a tragic nutcase was more than he could stomach, so he signed off on the Gringott's authorization, took another sleeping draught, and went off.

He woke up to see Lee at his bedside.

"Oh God not another visit." He rolled over and covered his head with his pillow.

There was a silence. "I've been told that if you don't toss the visitor out of the room, it means you don't really want them to leave," said Lee.

George chuckled tiredly.

"So you don't want me to leave?"

"No, you may as well stay. Won't be much entertainment, though."

"No?"

"No. Too many sleeping potions."

They were silent.

"You saw the papers, yeah?" George asked, his voice muffled.

Lee groaned. "Yes." He hesitated. "Are you angry at me?"

This was so bizarre that George turned over in bed. "What?"

"For getting you to come here."

George blinked. "Merlin, Jordan, for a moment there I thought you'd gone to the papers. No, mate, of course I'm not angry at you. Don't be daft."

Lee let out his breath. "You all right?"

"Dunno." He turned over again. "Least I'm not flirting with death in the testing lab every day, yeah? Because in retrospect even I can recognize that dying of a botched Wheeze might be a little embarrassing. But I'm bored as hell."

"What are you doing?"

"Trying different potions. Charms. Talking with the psychiatrist."

"Any of it helping?"

"S'ppose so," he said listlessly. "'M on some potion, s'posed to be relaxing. If I get any more relaxed I'll be in a coma."

"How's the psychiatrist?"

"Decent bloke. Says apparently I miss Fred. So glad St. Mungo's has a psychiatrist now, or they'd never have been able to figure it out."

Lee chuckled.

"Merlin, c'n you picture Fred in a place like this?" George asked, his voice very low.

Lee shook his head. "Not unless you'd snuffed it instead of him."

George snorted. "He wouldn't have ended up here."

"You don't think so?"

"He would've been a lot better able to deal with it."

Lee shook his head. "I can't believe I'm actually telling you something you don't know about Fred, but you're wrong, mate. He was worried about you, scared pissless that you'd die, and leave him alone. I believe his words were, 'He'd be able to go on, I wouldn't.' He told me he knew what his Boggart would look like, and it wasn't Madam Pince's knickers any more."

"He told you that? When?"

"Yeah. After your ear. He talked to me a few times."

George blinked. "I knew that. Don't know how I knew that." He sighed. "I always thought he was a lot stronger than me."

"No, but apparently he was a lot wiser than you."

George shrugged.

"How's it going, in here? D'you feel any better?"

Ah, the question everyone wanted to know. Was he better. "I don't have to deal with the shop. That's nice."

"Are they making you eat?"

George grimaced. "Ugh, yeah."

"Well, that's good, isn't it?"

He didn't know what was supposed to make things better in here, though the potions and the sleep and the lack of responsibility were supposed to be 'refreshing' and 'healing'. And everyone was being cautious and supportive and that was also supposed to help, and he was going to hex somebody before much longer.

He needed to get out of here. He needed to just appreciate that he'd been able to rest for a while, get some steady, dreamless sleep, and solid food. He needed to stop hoping St. Mungo's would be able to help him feel like he used to, before. Stop hoping for something that wasn't going to happen and just be grateful for the respite he'd had, and go back to his life. No matter how buggered up that life was.

"I think... I think I'm going to ask to go home," he said.

Lee's eyebrows went up. "You're serious?"

"I've been here two weeks," he pointed out.

"And you feel you're better?" Lee said skeptically.

"Healer Radstone thinks I'm better. I think."

"Well, if he says it's all right, maybe you're right," Lee said slowly.

George nodded, reassuring himself. He'd tried. He'd given this a shot. And he did feel better. He did.

Half-dead was still half-alive, right? He supposed it would have to be enough.