I'm sitting at a table full of family; somehow still alone.
Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Percy argue the importance of quidditch in a heated conversation that is drawing the attention of the non-responsive George.
Charlie hits Bill on the arm in mock-outrage because how DARE Bill announce the imminent arrival of the newest Weasley. Now Mum will never leave any of us alone in hopes that she'll get more grandchildren.
Mum is fussing over the mum-to-be.
Fleur basks in the attention, obviously happy that she no longer feels like an outcast in this fiery family.
Dad is trying to figure out how this evil toy works—it looks like a a house elf had a baby with an owl. Hermione said it was called a Fur-bee, or something like that.
Andromeda, holding little Teddy, made a rare appearance today. She'll probably go back home soon. She can only take happiness in small doses.
I wish I could go too.
Running to my bedroom as an escape isn't the same since I started sharing with Hermione. I could go sit in the big tree outside, but I can't hide as easily now that I'm taller than Mum.
I notice George slipping something into his robes as he sneaks out the back door.
I follow him to Dad's shed. When I sit next to him, his tear streaked face turns to me. He's not strong enough yet. Neither am I. He catches me as I collapse into him.
He sips the stolen firewhiskey as he strokes my hair. When I sit up again he wordlessly hands me the bottle.
My first sip makes me cough.
My second sip makes me wonder.
My third sip makes me feel.
When I go to bed that night, falling asleep is easy.
Waking up, I open my eyes and stare uncomprehendingly at the cracks in the ceiling.
I slept through the night.
My body is stiff from the lack of movement.
I didn't have a nightmare? I try to recall dreaming, but there's nothing there to remember.
I haven't slept that peacefully since before I started attending Hogwarts.
I go through the motions of my day. Smiling when appropriate, but otherwise keeping to myself or in close vicinity of George.
Mum asks me to help with lunch. Which is code for "let me talk at you while I prepare lunch." While I set the table she thanks me for trying to keep George afloat. She knows that we are all dealing with the loss of Fred in our own way—she takes a break in talking to calm herself down. She likes to be strong for her children, she doesn't want us to carry her burdens too—But she appreciates me taking the time to make sure that George doesn't grieve alone.
I nod and agree and think to myself that I have just been handed an excuse to not participate in the happiness of family gatherings.
George locks the door to his room that night. Not wanting even my maudlin company.
My liquid sleep isn't available and I toss and turn throughout the night. I accidentally wake Hermione twice before she casts a silencing charm around herself to get uninterrupted sleep.
I pretend to sleep in like everyone else and make it down to breakfast just as the food is being served.
I don't let George sneak away without me for the rest of the summer.
Being back at school, firewhiskey is in full supply. I've been of-age since before the semester started, so I am able to owl-order a couple of bottles every week.
I'm fairly adept at potions so I am able to create a lucrative business.
I am thankful every day for growing up under the twins tutelage.
I sell Dreamless Sleep and Pepper-Up on rotation. Apothecaries won't sell to underage students, but I know that the war we all just lived through left it's scars. Nightmares mostly.
I'm able to sell to my fellow students above regular asking price, because they wouldn't be able to get it legally anywhere else.
It provides enough to keep potion supplies and firewhiskey constantly at peak inventory.
I have friends. Firewhiskey. I play quidditch. Dreamless Sleep. I get top marks. Pepper-Up.
I hang out. Firewhiskey. I eat three square meals. Dreamless Sleep. I study. Pepper-Up.
I laugh. Firewhiskey. I smile. Dreamless Sleep. I'm fine. Pepper-Up.
Waking up, I open my eyes and stare uncomprehendingly at the cracks in the ceiling.
The cracks in the ceiling are wrong. I glance around the room in confusion. White walls. Glass cabinets with potions upon potions, all locked up. Mum and Dad asleep in a corner loveseat.
Dad wakes up first. I watch as he kisses Mum's forehead, rubs the sleep out of his eyes, and then looks towards me. He blinks at me. Once. Twice. And then the realization of me being awake hits him. He makes his way over to me as tears start to form in his eyes. He's leaning down to hug me when I notice he's sobbing.
When I ask him what's wrong, he just stares at me.
He asks me if I know where I am and why I'm there.
I don't.
So he tells me.
Mum wakes up at some point during the explanation. She was a crying mess before she could hug me.
I watch them throughout the ordeal. Because it is definitely an ordeal.
Apparently I was found in my dorm room. Unresponsive.
Luna found me after I missed breakfast and lunch. It was a weekend, so it was assumed I slept in. But missing two meals in one day is unheard of for a Weasley, so she checked on me. She got a younger year to let her into the common room and headed up to my dorm.
She found me.
She found me with vomit pooled under my face. I guess I'm lucky I usually sleep on my stomach.
My fingertips had turned blue, and I was unusually cold.
By the time my parents had been informed, I had already vomited twice more and St. Mungos was fire-called.
McGonagall found my supplies. They estimated that I had been supplying and self dosing all year.
They estimated correctly.
After they stabilized me, a team of medi-witches and wizards were sent to Hogwarts. They had a mandatory screening of all students.
A lot of parents were called in after that.
I don't remember much of my time at the hospital.
I remember pain. I remember throwing up. I remember being so cold.
I remember not caring.
I had a lot of visitors come in and cry over me. Asking me why I didn't come to them. My mum was the worst.
My favorite was George.
He would sit there, next to me and just hold my hand. Never accusing. Never mad. Never sad. He understood. He knew that I wasn't trying to kill myself.
I was trying to feel. I was trying to be numb. I was trying.
After the 'Detox Period' as Mum calls it, I was forced to move out of Hogwarts.
I was allowed to be a day student. I was kept on the quidditch team as they hoped exercise would help me feel better. I was encouraged to hang out with my friends.
I was never allowed privacy.
Of course it was 'for my own good'.
Wards were erected to make sure no contraband was smuggled in; by myself or owl-order.
I was fine. I made it through.
I talked to the Mind-Healer about the war. Losing friends. Losing Family. Fighting. Hiding. Crying.
I never talked about him though.
And he was never brought up.
I recovered.
I graduated in the top five.
At graduation I was approached by the owner/coach of The Holyhead Harpies. He offered me the position of reserve chaser. I took it.
I was so happy.
At dinner that night even George smiled.
Two months later I was out with the team after the latest win.
I had been training with them every day for the last 6 weeks so that we could work together seamlessly. I hadn't played a game yet, but I'm not expected to until next season. That's what happens when you get picked up towards the end of a season.
At the after-party, someone handed me a cup.
I looked at it. I know that color. I smelled it. I was instantly brought back to last summer in the shed with George. I drank it. I felt peace again.
I slept through the night.
I owl-ordered my weekly supply the next day under my roommate's name.
I slept blissfully almost every night after that.
George gets better as time goes on. He can smile again. He can laugh again. He can invent again.
He checks on me weekly, coming over every Sunday morning so that we can head to the Burrow together for lunch.
I always make sure to drink the last of that weeks supply on Saturday night. The next weekly shipment is delivered every Monday morning.
Sundays are the worst. I know I'll have nightmares.
As George starts to date again, he slowly stops checking in every week.
I'm fine. They all see me weekly. They know I'm fine.
Totally fine.
I make sure to be at every Sunday Lunch even as I up my firewhiskey intake.
If I drink some before I go, it makes it a little more tolerable.
Everyone is happy.
I'm fine.
Waking up, I open my eyes and stare uncomprehendingly at the cracks in the ceiling.
I know these cracks. Someone should really fix the ceilings in the Wizarding world. I don't remember there being this many cracks in the ceiling when Hermione takes us to Muggle places.
My pillow shifts and suddenly I'm staring into the brown eyes of my brother.
George is incredibly pale as he looks at me.
He tells me that it's Sunday and they were worried when I didn't make it to family lunch. He volunteered to find me.
He found me.
He found me passed out on the sofa. There was an empty firewhiskey bottle sticking out between my legs and a blanket I had kicked off at some point.
I'm still a little drunk while he's explaining all of this to me.
He looks so sad when he asks me when I started drinking again.
I tell him the truth. Because I can't lie to him.
It's been months.
He looks at me and asks why.
He was so defeated when he said it. And I realized he never asked me that the last time.
Everyone else did. And they all got the same answer. I didn't know.
But George had never asked.
Now he did.
The answer is ripped from me as though I had self medicated with Veritaserum instead of firewhiskey.
I could still feel him.
George is confused. He clarifies by asking if I can still feel Fred's presence.
I look at him with blank eyes.
I tell him the truth.
I can still feel him in my soul. It's like he never really left.
I wonder aloud if the echo of Tom's soul ever stayed with anyone else for this long.
It takes George a moment to place my words.
I watch the horrified realization settle onto his face.
He's still holding me as I drift back into unconsciousness.
I hope they don't wake me up this time.
I think I can see Fred.