New story time! So I'm not nearly done with this, i think it's gonna be really long anyways. I've had this, and a few other chapters written for a while, so it will be steadily updates for a while :)
ALSO NOTE: that I personally have no experience on spousal abuse, or anything like that mentioned in this story. I"ve read quite a bit about it, but still. I tried my best, and tried to write it the best I could. Please consider dropping a review to tell me how I managed it... if anyone is offended by anything (which I don't think will happen... idk), I apologise in advance.
Chapter 1:
The Weasleys all sat down to enjoy what should have been a happy dinner. After all the war was over and Voldemort was dead. Most were happy, ready to settle back down into the lives that had, for the most part been disrupted by the war.
The Weasleys, on the other hand were a very different, but not uncommon story.
After the loss of Fred, just a month ago, none of the Weasleys were doing good. Most weren't even doing okay.
But out of them all, George was most possibly doing the worst.
He would constantly pause in the middle of his speech, and glance to the right of him, expectant. He almost always refused to finish what he had been saying, claiming that it, wasn't after all, his sentence to finish.
When he had come to the Burrow that afternoon, his hair had been dyed, with muggle dye it seemed, a bright green and purple. His left side was a dark, though bright, forest green, some strands darker than others, and his right was a deep purple. It was split evenly down the middle. His hair had grown out, reaching his shoulders, and his bangs often fell in his eyes.
Molly had shrieked when she saw it, and immediately whipped out her wand to turn it back it to ginger. But no matter what she did, it didn't change back, and George smirked in satisfaction, though only for a second. He had specially created a potion to protect it from magical interference. When his mother had asked him why he dyed it, he only looked at her and muttered, "I wanted to look different." She had immediately stopped trying to change it, and had stared at him wordlessly when he turned away. A few tears slipped from both their eyes and both took care not to let the other see it as they brushed it away.
Molly and Arthur, while both grieved, were beginning to get better.
Molly had thrown herself into her family. She insisted that all of her children, for the time after the war, stay close at the Burrow. Bill had only just moved out last week, insisting that he needed to get out. Molly had been extremely reluctant to let him go, but had, after weeks of convincing and arguing, had given in.
Arthur, on the other hand, while he did love his family, found it hard to be around them, especially George. Privately he admitted to himself that it was because of how much he looked like Fred. Most of Arthur's time was put into his work, though, oftentimes Molly made him come home and spend time with her and the kids. Which he, for the most part, didn't mind, though was reluctant to do.
Ron and Hermione, who had gotten together at the end of the war, were happily dating. Secretly, Hermione was uncertain as to how long it would last. Her and Ron were so different. She almost wondered if it was too different. Not to mention what had happened last night.
Ginny and Harry had also rekindled their relationship after the war. They were very happy together, and while neither wanted to get married yet, it was obvious that they were as close as many married couples. Molly and Arthur approved wholeheartedly of the relationship, and thought that the two were very aptly suited. It was an opinion most of the family shared. In fact, unknown to Molly, the pair had started making plans to buy a smallish (three bedrooms, one and a half bath) house together.
Gathered, all together (Bill had flooed back to visit, as he often did, mostly at Molly's insistence), even Hermione and Harry (who were Weasleys, as far as the family was concerned, in all but name) were there, it was eerily quiet.
Before the final battle, no matter how grim things had been, dinner had always been a noisy affair. Everyone talked and laughed freely.
Now, however it was a different story.
"Ginny, dear, pass the salt." Molly said softly to Ginny, who was closest to the salt.
They were all sat outside, the sun setting behind them, flushing the sky a beautiful magenta orange color. Lights had been enchanted to hand unbound above and around the table casting light on the table was long and rectangular, built of a dark hardwood. Molly and Arthur were sat on the two ends. Hermione and Ron, or course, sat next to each other, down on Arthurs end. Next to Ron sat Bill and Charlie, who were quietly conversing about Quidditch. Across from Charlie, sat Ginny, and next to her was, Harry. Harry was talking to Arthur and George, who sat next to him, while Ginny talked to Molly.
Despite the fact that so many people were talking, it was overall rather quiet, everyone speaking in hushed, grim voices. No one was talking about anything of any importance, all staying on safe topics like work and Quidditch.
George, though Harry was talking to him, was barely responding.
He was, oftentimes, moody and silent, preferring to brood in his room, despite how much the others tried to involve him.
Most of the family were sure that the worst was yet to come for George. He was almost in a denial like stage. He never talked about Fred, or any of the things that even remotely involved him. It was certain that his 'ignorance is bliss' and his 'out of sight out of mind' mindset (he broke all the mirrors in his shop and at home) would soon pop and he would be worse off for it.
"George, what are you thinking about?" Harry asked softly to George, after a short lapse in mostly one sided conversation, successfully changing the topic of conversation, it had been on the joke shop.
"Hmm… Oh you know things." George said, glancing quickly at Harry, and then returning to the wall where he had been looking previously.
Harry decided that it was now or never. "Him?"
George looked at Harry, Harry would have believed that he had his attention, if not for the foggy lost sheen over his eyes.
There was a silence, and it was so long before Harry got a response that he wondered if, perhaps he wasn't going to answer.
"I suppose." George quietly answered, almost whispering.
He seemed to forget that he was talking to anyone, and that his entire family was present and had fallen silent, looking, unnoticed by him, at him as he continued.
"It's just, I don't know what to make of it. He's dead. Gone. I'll never see him again… except for when I look in a mirror…. I dyed my hair, it doesn't help, I miss him so much, and all I have to do to see him again is look in a mirror. But it isn't him, no matter how much I want to be." His voice was low, full of ache and grief. A wound, unseeable, on his heart.
He twisted in his seat suddenly, turning around to look at the window that was across the room. It was dark outside, but the blinds were still up, making it so that George could see himself. He swallowed hard, and turned back around.
If he saw that everyone was looking at him he didn't show it, as he went right back to staring at his hands. Suddenly, he jerked his hands and shoved them under the table, and shifted his stare to the table. He swallowed, and seemed to be fighting back tears as he continued to talk, though his voice was now composed, almost to the point of being cold.
"At the joke shop, I can't help but see him everywhere. I can't help but pause when I talk, because I always expect him to cut in… I can't tell you how many people have called my Fred, and then avoided me like the plague!" his voice had risen to a shout, even though he stayed still in his seat, his face was contorted, and he was furious.
He was furious at the Death Eaters, the world, even at himself. It was no secret that he, at least in part blamed himself, though his family didn't think it was this big of a weight on his conscience.
Fred stopped talking, his face calmed, and saddened. The lines on his face were apparent. Lines were abundant around his eyes, though they weren't laugh lines, and the frown seemed carved there.
He suddenly jumped to his feet, his face in pieces, long fought composure forgotten, or perhaps abandoned.
He stormed out of the house, and into the yard.
The rest of the family, that had stayed at the table, shocked, heard the distant crack of dissapperation. No one had expected that to happen. Why now?
Molly had tears dripping down her cheeks, a pained expressed on her face, and Arthur looked shell shocked. Hermione was also in tears, and she looked like she had wanted to run after him, there was regret on her face. Ron on the other hand, didn't look like he was feeling anything, there wasn't an expression on his face, his facial features looked like they were carved out of stone.
Really, though they should have expected this. It wasn't surprising that, after all he had endured, he would crack, it was only a surprise that it had taken this long.
Hermione felt awful, it wasn't her responsibility to care for George, but she felt, perhaps irrationally, partial responsibility. She was, afterall at the joke shop almost as much as she was at the Burrow, or with Ron. She saw George almost every day, but still had had no idea that this was coming, no one did or could have.
The rest of the night, was spent in an agonizing silence as the family processed what had happened.
Hermione had wanted to go after George, but Ron had stopped her. According to him, it would be best for George if they let him stew for a while, and then approach him. They could get through to him better. Hermione, even after his many assurances was still doubtful.
It was in fact, only because of the anger that Ron had shown towards her, and George, that she gave up, and stayed at the Burrow to eat.
Hermione and Ron, had argued, just after George left, and by the end of it, Ron was furious at her, and had gone as far as to grip her wrists painfully when she had tried to leave and go after George. The rest of the family, including Harry, pretended not to notice, perhaps hoping that, as they did with so many other things, that if they ignored it, it would eventually go away. Which never happened.
Hermione and Ron stepped into the fireplace that was filled with green flames. The couple were the last to leave, Hermione having avoided it for as long as she could. She helped Molly with the dishes, and cleaning up, long after everyone else had left. It had only been at the insistent urgings of an angry Ron, that Hermione, unhappy, left with him. They quickly said their goodbyes and flooed away to their flat.
Hermione, when they arrived, watched apprehensively as Ron brushed himself clean of the ash that had collected on his robes. She wordlessly did the same, wondering if tonight would be the same as last night, and wondering what she would do if it was.
"You bitch!" it was with a savagity that Hermione had only seen directly at Death Eaters, that Ron came at her. She was helpless to do anything but watch as he raised his hand.
"How dare you cheat on me with him!"
Of course Ron would think that she had cheated on him, probably with George, after the way she had wanted to go after him earlier. But, contrary to what he thought, she had never cheated on him, with anybody, much less his own brother.
Hermione tried, throughout the next hour, to stop Ron, but eventually gave up, and ran to the living room, aiming for the fireplace.
Hermione flooed to the only place she could think of, and that just happened to be the place that she though Ron wouldn't follow her, but she was wrong.
"Weasley Wizard Wheezes, George's flat!" she practically threw the floo powder in the fireplace and hurled herself in after it. Hoping that Ron wouldn't follow.
She felt his hand grab his foot, and gulped.
Ron and Hermione fell into the flat above the joke shop. Ron immediately pinned to the ground, her back down. Hermione whimpered and flinched back against the floor, as Ron struck her. She hoped George would get there soon, and wondered if he was even there.
Ron made to hit her again, but behind her she heard footsteps, fast ones, and evidently Ron did to as he made to pull her back into the fireplace that still had green flames in them.
George came around the corner, wearing pajamas, and sporting bloodshot eyes, his multicolored hair sticking up. His eyes fell on the two of them, Ron with a savage expression on his face, focused on the form below him.
George felt a tremor of surprise and horror go down his spine, Hermione looked like she had been hit with a train, or at least a Sectumsempra.
He ran forward and tackled Ron sideways, clearly seeing what had happened. and rolled him off Hermione, pinning him below him. Neither of them had their wands, but George was older and bigger than Ron, though it was close in terms of height and size. Both were very tall and lanky, but from their days of Quidditch, they were both very strong.
The two fought it out, eventually concluding when George punched Ron hard enough in the temple to knock him out.
Hermione, while this had been happening, had gotten to her feet shakily, her hands pressed to her stomach, a pained groan slipping from her mouth. She was swaying on her feet, and looked like she was going to fall. She was deathly pale, her eyes glassy.
George, still on the floor, looked her way, and jumped to his feet, he had almost forgotten that she was there. He walked over to her quickly, vaguely wondering what he was going to do.
Her eyes, focused on George, rolled up into her head, showing the whites. She gasped shallowly, and then went limp, falling. George barely caught her as she fell, looking at her in panic, before realizing that she had merely passed out, not died as he had thought in a moment of adrenaline fueled panic.
Again, tell me how I did, and keep in mind that I don't personally have experience with spousal abuse, and did my best to write this.