Disclaimer - I own nothing you recognise.
Written for Hogwarts Assignment - Mythology Task 4 - Someone who doesn't handle alcohol well.
Beta'd By Sam and Lily. Thank you, my loves.
Word Count - 1489
I'll Catch You
George sat at the bar, a half full tumbler of whisky in front of him. The Leaky Cauldron was different these days; quieter and busier at the same time. George didn't know why he was surprised by that, everything was different these days.
Grief was eating people alive, driving them to the bars where they could drink cheap alcohol to numb the pain, if only for a night.
George had tried to fight it. He'd tried not to succumb to the relief of the bottle, but he was slowly yet surely losing that fight. In some ways it made him feel better, the numbness was a welcome relief. In others, it made things worse, because he knew, he knew, that Fred wouldn't approve of the way he was behaving.
Fred would be telling him to get a grip. He'd be telling him that he was wasting his life. He'd be telling him that he needed to sort himself out and get back to their experiments.
The crux of the problem was that Fred wasn't there to tell him any of that.
Fred was just a memory now.
George stumbled home from the pub many a night, into the lonely silence of his flat, where instead of exclamations and laughter, he was met with darkness and quiet.
He hated it.
His mum had tried to convince him to move back home to the Burrow, but the very idea of returning there was enough to leave George trembling and sweating.
Fred was buried in the garden.
Shifting on his bar stool, George eyed the other regulars. He knew many of them, had fought alongside them in fact, but they didn't talk to each other. Nobody was there for the company.
In the back corner, Seamus Finnigan leant against the wall, his feet up in the booth he occupied, his elbows on his knees, his hands supporting his head. George had seen him a lot, always in the same booth.
He felt for the younger man. He'd been tortured for almost his entire seventh year at Hogwarts, only for the battle to end with his best friend and his mum both dead.
Seamus didn't handle his alcohol well though. Many a night, George had seen him flip for no apparent reason, his sudden rages being taken out on unsuspected patrons of the Leaky Cauldron. He wondered why Tom hadn't barred him, but deep down, he knew why.
Tom understood that they were all dealing with loss.
He understood that sometimes alcohol was the only thing that could help.
Finishing his drink, he lifted his glass at Tom for a refill, his thoughts of Seamus forgotten for the moment. A flash of red hair on the other side of the bar had made his heart race.
There was a reason George wasn't seeing his family at the moment.
…
George stumbled from the bar, steadying himself on the wall so he didn't fall over. So intent was he on getting to his bed, he almost didn't notice the body on the floor, sprawled at an awkward angle with their head against the wall.
"Seamus?" he asked, blinking blearily. "Ger up, mate, can't sleep there."
With one hand on the wall to keep himself from falling ass over elbow, George leant down and helped pull Seamus to his feet.
"Fuck off, would ya," Seamus sneered, shaking George off and nearly falling over again in the process.
George raised his arm away, shrugging. He moved to walk away, when he heard Seamus muttering about finding his wand for Apparition.
"You can't apparate, Finnigan, you'll end up splinched!"
"Fuck off, Weasley," Seamus snapped, finding his wand and holding it the wrong way up in his hand.
"Expelliarmus," George said calmly, catching the wand that came soaring his way. "You think the people you loved died to see you this way?" he demanded, when Seamus stumbled again before he levelled himself out enough to glare at George.
"Oh, because you can talk!" Seamus scoffed. "You think Freddie is enjoying watching you kill your liver? You've still got a family who love you! What've I got? Eh? Fucking nothing, that's what!"
George stared at him for a moment, sagging back against the wall. "You're right. I do. And no, he wouldn't enjoy that. Come on, Finnigan, I got a sofa you can dry out on."
"I don't need your fucking pity!"
"I don't pity you," George replied. "Call it empathy. Let's go."
He gripped Seamus' arm, pulling him down the street, his own head clearing as he walked. Letting them into the flat, he suddenly found himself with a dead weight leaning against him, as Seamus' eyes fluttered closed.
With a deep sigh, George lifted Seamus and carried him up the stairs into the flat, thankful that he'd left the door to the living room open.
As George laid Seamus out on the sofa, the younger man murmured, "You smell like almonds."
George turned the light off and went to bed.
…
George cooked breakfast for the first time in months.
He wondered at it even as he flipped the bacon over in the pan, realising that having another person there was what made all the difference.
A groan from the sofa in the living room alerted George that his houseguest was awake and he moved to the door to watch Seamus slowly sit up.
"Morning," he said quietly, hoping it wouldn't make the other man jump.
Seamus didn't jump, but he stared at George for a moment, before he pushed the blanket off himself and stood up. George couldn't help but notice the shake to the other man's hands.
"I'm making breakfast," George murmured. "Bathroom is through there, there's extra toothbrushes and shit in the basket to the left and you're welcome to the shower."
"I should, um, go."
George shrugged. "Suit yourself, I suppose. You're welcome though. You know. If you want to stay for a bit."
Seamus stayed.
…
It turned into somewhat of a pattern. George would be sitting in his flat, Fred's dressing gown wrapped around him, parchment scattered around as he worked on one of their old experiments, and his wards would notify him that Seamus had arrived.
Often drunk, Seamus would stumble up the stairs and collapse into the nearest chair, or onto the sofa if George wasn't occupying it.
In the morning, George would cook them breakfast.
George wasn't fixed, not by any stretch of the imagination. He still fought the urge to seek the numbness of the bottom of a bottle, but he'd made himself, and Fred, a promise that he wouldn't do it.
So he wouldn't.
He'd thought to try and convince Seamus, but knew that the younger man had to come to the conclusion by himself. Nobody could help him if he didn't want to be helped.
Instead, George made him food. He kept a stock of fresh underwear and socks in Seamus' size, along with a few t shirts and two pairs of jeans. When Seamus got changed into the clean, George washed the dirty. He listened to Seamus' drunken rants.
He did what he could and he waited.
Seamus would either fight, or he would fall.
George couldn't do either of those things for him.
…
Tears streamed down his cheeks. There was an angry looking gash under his eye, and his clothes were ripped. George stared at Seamus for a moment, before he stood up, helping him into the chair and summoning the first aid kit.
He felt a slight tremor run through him when he caught it; he hadn't used it since before… before. It hadn't been necessary. Pushing the grief away for the moment, he opened the box and set to fixing Seamus' cheek. He could've healed it with magic, he knew, but sometimes, someone just needed a bit of hands on care instead of the whisper of a spell.
"What happened?"
Seamus shrugged, fresh tears falling down his cheeks. "I… thought. It was. Dean. I thought he was, and then he wasn't but the way I grabbed the guy, and he wasn't happy, and then I snapped because he wasn't and -"
George cut him off with a murmured, "It's okay."
"It's not! It's not okay! I don't… I'm falling, George. I'm falling and falling, and I'm waiting to just hit the ground and be done, be done with the pain but the bottom never comes and I just keep falling and I can't do it anymore."
Leaning forward, George wrapped his arms around Seamus.
Seamus fought a little, but then he stopped, and his arms were tight around George's back, and he was sobbing into Fred's dressing gown.
When the tears dried, when Seamus curled himself into a ball on the chair, when George wrapped a blanket around him, Seamus whispered, "What happens when I stop falling?"
George smiled slightly and he ruffled a hand through Seamus' hair. "I'll catch you."
Also Written For;
Character Appreciation - 25. Splinched
Book Club - Marguerite - Almond / Making someone breakfast / memory
Days of the Month - No Tobacco Day - Someone trying to give up an addiction
Buttons - O1. Socks / D5. "I'll catch you." / W2. Extra
Lyric Alley - 12. Only if for a night.
Ami's Audio - 2. Experiment
Emy's Emporium - 5. Alcoholism
Showtime - 36. Grief
Photography Month - 11. A person who is downcast or depressed
Cooking Corner - Bourbon - Drunk
Scavenger Hunt - 5. OTP - SeamusGeorge
Insane House - 495. Dressing Gown