If you recognise it, it's not mine.
I know nothing about medicine so please suspend disbelief on that.
part one: the sun which never ever goes behind a cloud (so close your eyes instead)
"My name's Lee, I'm single, seventeen next month, and-" The door swings open with an exhausted creak, cutting him off mid-introduction.
Lupin, the guy who runs the group, looks up and gestures to a couple of spare seats. "Welcome to the group," he says, just as he does to every new member. Lee turns round, and for a second, he thinks he's seeing double before his mind catches up with his eyes. He does the standard check: no oxygen tanks, no prosthetics, no canes. The twins walk as if they've been wound up and set at exactly the same point. They sit down at precisely the same time, red hair flopping over their foreheads.
"Fred and George Weasley," they say in exact unison, at Lupin's encouraging nod as the round of introductions reaches them. "Seventeen years old." They don't give any indication of their illness, or whether one or both of them have it. Just their names, and a toy frog casually flipped across the circle, and twin smiles which mix happy and sad and mischief all at once.
Lupin catches the frog and continues with the session. Usually he brings in stuff to do, like video games, art equipment, movies. Once he brought huge charts in and talked to them about myths and monsters.
Today they hold a Mario Kart tournament, single and teams. Fred and George play as a team, and they absolutely thrash everyone else, seemingly barely needing to meet each other's eyes to communicate. When they stop to take a break, queueing around the small table which holds cups of lemonade and plates of biscuits, Lee finds himself in the line behind them. They're talking quietly, and Lee can just make out a discussion about water balloons. He smirks; he's tried to come up with similar plans before.
"You'd be better with confetti or something," he says. "The floor here literally takes weeks to dry properly, plus you can actually tip confetti on people." Fred and George turn round, identical expressions of surprise on their faces. Lee shrugs. "Hi."
"Confetti?" Fred- or maybe George- asks, eyes lighting up.
"Yeah. It's a lot happier than water balloons, and let's face it, the people here need cheering up." In his world, optimism can be hard to come by, so Lee tends to hold on to what he's got.
"I'm Lee, by the way," Lee says as they reach the front of the line. "Lee Jordan."
"Fred and George Weasley," they chorus again. "Pleased to meet you." They both hold out a hand, and Lee ends up getting tangled as he tries to shake them both at once.
They spend the rest of the break working out how to tip confetti over everyone, and by the end of the session, they've exchanged mobile numbers. Fred and George insist on setting their names as Gred and Forge, so he still has no idea which is which.
As the weekly sessions continue, they become closer, and Lee learns to tell them apart by the subtle differences in the way they hold their heads, the movements of their hands.
"So, what's your story?" George asks one day. They're playing board games today, moving pieces around a Monopoly board as they talk.
"Not much to tell, really," Lee shrugs, rolling the dice. "I got diagnosed with thyroid cancer when I was ten, and I've been coming here since I was eleven. I was in remission for a while when I was thirteen, but it came back a couple of years ago." He pauses, but neither twin offers any follow up of their own. "How about you?" he asks before the silence can get too awkward.
Fred shrugs, handing a wad of paper money over as he lands on Lee's hotel. George takes his own turn, and claims the last property on the board.
"Guys?" The silence is becoming all the more noticeable with the chatter from the other groups. Lee notices the way Fred's jaw tightens, and the way George's hands loosen around the counter he's holding. Their eyes flick back and forth, an entire conversation taking place in seconds. "Did I cross a line or something?" Lee asks, tapping the 'go' square on the board in a feeble attempt at a joke.
"No," they say, almost in unison, before leaning forward over the desk and lowering their voices, so Led has to lean forward too. They're perfectly in sync now, a trick which still unnerves him sometimes. "Diagnosed with leukaemia when we were thirteen," they murmur together. "Just one of us." Lee can't tell if that's better or worse than the alternative.
"Who?" he whispers back. The twins shake their heads and lean back in their chairs, signifying the end of the conversation. George passes the dice to Lee.
"Your go."
Lee rolls the dice, and lands directly on the last square before 'go', which just happens to be owned by George. "That'll be two hundred, Lee," George says.
Lee rifles through the stack of notes, adding up to just over a hundred and fifty. "Can I write an IOU?" he jokes. George laughs and takes the money, and the game is over. It's not until later that Lee realises that the twins were working together to trap him in a long patch of their own properties, but mainly his mind is occupied with thoughts of 'just one' and 'who?'
Nearly a month later, he still hasn't figured anything out.
"No, no, no, Superman is clearly superior to Batman. He can fly, and he's got super strength, and all that stuff. Batman's just... human."
"Exactly," George counters. "He's only human, but he can do a lot of the stuff Superman can, plus hacking and stuff like that."
"Come on, he wears a hat with bat ears on it," Fred protests.
George scoffs. "Yeah, like a red cape's any better."
Lee leans back in his chair until his shoulders touch the wall, trying not to laugh. This is the first time he's ever seen them argue, and it's pretty funny.
"Back me up here, Lee," they both beg, turning to face him in a disconcerting mirror image.
Lee shrugs. "Actually, I was always more of a Green Lantern fan," he says.
They both pull a face. "You sound like Percy," Fred says disgustedly.
"And who's that?" Lee asks casually, swinging his chair slightly.
"Older brother. He used to like Green Lantern, but then he went all boring," George says.
"Bill and Charlie are still into superheroes though, right?" Fred adds, glancing at his brother.
"Yeah, and Ron, although he still likes Aquaman. We really need to do something about that."
"Wait, how many brothers do you have?" Lee asks, head spinning.
"Four-"
"-three older, one younger-"
"-and Ginny, our sister-"
"-but she doesn't like superheroes, so..."
Lee overbalances and falls off his chair with a crash. "Five? You guys have five brothers and sisters?"
"Well, technically, we both have six," George says.
"We are separate people, you know, Lee," Fred adds, raising an eyebrow.
"I know, I know, but six? Bloody hell." Lee picks himself up from the floor and flops down on the beanbag in between the twins.
"It's not actually that bad," Fred muses, shoving him sideways to make more room for himself. "I mean, Charlie works at a zoo in Romania, and Bill's moved in with Fleur now, so that's a bit more space."
"Percy would move into his office if he could," George says, pushing Lee to the other side. Lee gives up and reclaims the fallen chair.
"But anyway, Batman or Superman?"
Lee can't help but laugh as they start bickering again. He can tell it's an old argument now, more of a routine than anything else.
One week Lupin brings in paper and charcoal and pencils, and tells them to draw their biggest fear. It's a pretty serious atmosphere- one of their more consistent members, a girl called Katie Bell, was taken into hospital for an operation a couple of days ago. Nobody's heard anything yet.
Lee hesitates for a while (death doesn't scare him, not anymore) before picking up a pencil and beginning to draw the edge of a cliff face, clouds obscuring the drop. Fred leans over his shoulder, nodding.
"Cool," he says.
"Interesting," George adds.
"Fear of heights, or maybe-"
"-fear of the unknown?"
"Fear of clouds?"
They carry on like this, half serious, half joking, switching lines as if they're one person. Lee's gaze strays to their own work, drawn on a single piece of paper. They've drawn half of the image each, and it's obvious that one is the better artist. The figure is drawn in simple coloured pencils, one half in bold, blockish shapes, the other in careful, delicate lines. It takes Lee several seconds to figure out that the picture is of one person. By the time he realises this, the twins have finished analysing his own picture and returned to their seats. Fred starts colouring the figure's left shoe, while George returns to the precise strokes he's using to give his half of the picture vibrant red hair, and Lee doesn't know what to make of it, really.
Lupin has them try to explain the pictures later. There are stories about clowns and spiders and horror movies and some deeper ones; one girl's mother died when she was little, and she doesn't want to leave her father alone, if she died too. Eventually it gets to Lee. He chooses his words carefully, because for once, he's not really sure what he's trying to say.
"I guess... It's like if I was on a cliff, right, and I knew I could jump, if I wanted to, but it would kill me." Some people are frowning slightly, but Luna, the girl who lost her mother, is nodding in understanding. "Like, I'm not sure that I wouldn't. Jump, I mean," he finishes awkwardly. The room falls silent, because Lee is the joker, the laughter, the sun which never ever goes behind a cloud.
Lupin nods. "Okay. Fred, George?"
They hold up their sheet of paper, positioning it directly between them, and there's a slight sinking feeling in Lee's chest when he realises that the figure's eyes are shut, as if they were sleeping (but he can tell that they're not, because there's only one thing about this picture that could scare the twins this much), and that there are two letters drawn onto the coloured jumper. Half of a 'G', half of an 'F'. They lower the picture again, turning to glance at each room has fallen silent, and even Lupin's usual placid reassurance has faltered. Lee pulls the cord attached to the back of his chair to release the confetti balanced on a high windowsill above their heads. It comes away in his hand, and nothing happens.
"Have a good Christmas, Lee," they chorus at the end of the session, simultaneously ducking into opposite sides of the blue Ford Anglia. Lee waves and starts off walking home. They all had plans over the holidays: pretty much all of Lee's extended family would be visiting at some point or other, and apparently all of Fred and George's brothers, plus Bill's girlfriend Fleur, would be staying in the house at Christmas. Unsurprisingly enough, the twins had planned enough pranks to last until next year, but hadn't finished their Christmas shopping yet. Basically, Lee doesn't think he'll see them again until the New Year.
As usual when it's to do with the twins, he's wrong.
part two: listen to me now (peace and quiet at last)
Lee's phone is ringing at three in the morning. He fumbles for it drowsily, rolling his eyes as he sees the name Forge flashing on the screen. "What is it this time, guys?" he mumbles, before registering that there is something in the background which sounds horribly like sirens, and sobbing, and shouting. "Is everything okay?"
"Lee!" someone gasps far too loudly, their voice so panicked Lee can't tell which twin is speaking. "Lee, it's...he..."
"Fred? George? What's going on?" Lee's wide awake now, pushing the blankets away and blinking sleep out of his eyes. "Did something happen?"
"Y-yeah, we have to go...hospital...oh, god, Lee..." Whichever twin it is sounds close to tears, and that in itself is enough to get Lee moving.
"Do you want me to come?"
"I don't know...I don't-" a choked sob echoes down the line, and Lee sets his mouth in a grim line.
"I'll be there in twenty minutes, okay?"
He's there in seventeen minutes, and at a first glance, the waiting room seems to be full of vivid red hair. Closer inspection reveals that he's looking at what can only be Fred and George's family. There's a lanky teenage boy who looks about fifteen, pacing up and down in front of a row of chairs. Another boy, this one with neat glasses on his face, is sitting at the end of the row, hands tapping on his knees anxiously. A younger girl is wedged between them, dressed in a bizarre mixture of wellington boots and a nightdress, and she's crying into yet another boy's shoulder. The only adults in the room are a young couple, a young man with the classic Weasley looks and a girl with long, silvery blonde hair, and what must be their parents, filling out forms at the reception desk. They barely look up as Lee glances around in search of the twin who called him. He eventually spots him, crumpled in the corner, a mess of ruffled hair and knitted jumper and untied shoes jammed on the wrong feet.
"Hey," Lee whispers, as quiet as the girl's crying. "What happened?" The twin looks up, and it takes Lee a couple of seconds to recognise who it is, because it's so much easier when they're standing side by side.
Lee drops to his knees beside one of his best friends, breath catching in his throat. For once, he's lost for words, and all he can do is open and close his mouth several times before saying, "Oh," in a way which just sounds childlike and small and lost, because now he knows who isn't dying but that means the other one is, and that's not okay.
Fred looks up at him, freckles dark against his pale face. "Lee," he whispers, and then he slumps against him, trembling like a leaf ready to fall from a tree. "Lee, he-"
"I know," Lee murmurs softly, shifting so that he's leaning against the wall, Fred's shoulder at his chest. "It's going to be okay."
Someone taps his shoulder gently. It's one of the older boys, the one who was with the younger girl. "Hey."
Lee holds out a hand as best as he can. "I'm Lee-" he begins.
The other boy's face clears in recognition as he shakes Lee's hand. "Charlie Weasley. I've heard a lot about you." He kneels down beside them, resting a hand on Fred's back.
"What happened?" Lee asks quietly, glancing around the room.
"I'm not sure, to be honest," Charlie replies. "I got woken up by Ginny, and Bill drove us here." He nods towards the girl and the other boys in the room, who are dressed in varying mixtures of clothes and pyjamas.
"He wouldn't wake up," Fred whispers from behind his hands. "I woke up, I don't know why, but I checked on him and he wouldn't wake up, and...and..." He trails off, in a choked sob, and Lee sees the way his hands are shaking. Another person comes and burrows into Charlie's side. It's the girl, the sister. Ginny, that's it. Up close, Lee can see she's older than he thought, maybe thirteen or fourteen.
"Mum and Dad have finished with the forms," she says, pointing towards where the rest of the family have clustered together. Charlie stands up, wrapping a protective arm around his sister, and looks down at Fred.
"Are you coming, Fred?" he asks. Fred nods, but doesn't move. Lee stands up, tugging his friend with him.
They sit down in two seats between Charlie and the tall boy who was pacing earlier. Mrs Weasley smiles at Lee, although her face is creased with worry. "Hello, dear. You must be Lee. I'm so sorry we haven't met before, but..."
"Nice to meet you," Lee replies. The others introduce themselves too, Ron, Percy, Bill, Fleur. Lee nods.
They're kept waiting for a long time.
Ginny starts yawning after about an hour, and Bill and Fleur offer to take her home, asking that they get told the instant there's any news. Lee doesn't even consider leaving; he can tell that Fred is just a few strings short of breaking, and the rest of his family aren't much better.
Eventually, the receptionist calls out to them, a strange, semi-sympathetic smile on her face, and the whole lot of them are led to a clean white room, the sort Lee has spent far too much time in, as a patient. George's red hair looks washed out against the cream pillow. There's a doctor waiting for them, speaking in a way Lee knows isn't bad, but could be better. Fred tugs on his arm, stumbling over to the bed as if he's sleepwalking.
"Hey, Georgie," he whispers. George's eyes are closed, and for a second, Fred's lips tighten and his cheeks flush. Then he taps George's wrist lightly, and the other boy's eyes open dazedly. "Hey," Fred whispers again, relief flooding his tone.
Behind him, Lee can hear a gasping sob, and a muttered 'Bloody hell' from one of the brothers, but he tunes it out, because there's a look of confusion flickering over George's face and Fred's voice is getting louder, panicked. Lee's heart seems to have lodged itself in his throat, because the scene in front of him doesn't make sense. Fred and George shouldn't need anything as basic as speaking to communicate.
Someone pushes in between them, red hair in disarray, glasses almost falling off his nose. It's Percy, talking quickly, cutting through Fred's panic. "Fred, you have to calm down. I can explain, I promise."
Fred shuts up, although his lips are pressed together so hard they're little more than a thin white line, and Lee notices that Percy's holding a notepad and pen, scribbling in neat, cramped handwriting as he talks. Every few words, he turns the pad round to show George.
Lee doesn't quite follow everything Percy's saying, but he understands enough to know that whatever happened damaged George's ears. They've managed to salvage his hearing in one, and it should come back in a couple of days, but he'll be deaf in his left ear for the rest of his life. Once Percy's finished, Fred snatches the pad off him, scribbling so quickly the paper tears. Lee can't even make out what he's written, but he can read George's response.
'Peace and quiet at last.' There's a little smiley face drawn beside it. Fred gives a choked laugh, and whatever barrier was holding the rest of the family back breaks.
Lee carefully edges out of the mass of red hair to see Charlie leaning against a wall, talking into his mobile. "I don't know when they'll let him out, Bill, but apparently he's out of danger." He pauses for a second, catching sight of Lee and flashing him a wan smile. "No, they don't know what caused it yet. I've got money for a taxi, I'll bring Ron and Percy back soon." He hangs up and turns to Lee. "Are you going?"
"I don't know. I guess, if that's okay?"
"I'm taking Ron and Percy home soon anyway, do you want a lift?"
"I'm fine, I can walk," Lee replies, gesturing to the thick coat he's still wearing.
"Don't be stupid," Charlie frowns. "Lee, it's nearly five in the morning. Do your parents even know you're here?"
Lee nodded, glancing back at the bed. The notepad was still being passed around. "They were pretty understanding when I explained."
Charlie purses his lips, looking Lee over, expression inscrutable. "I'm giving you a lift," he decides.
Ten minutes later, Lee is wedged in the back of a taxi, Ron and Percy squeezed in beside him. Charlie's sitting in the front. There was no question of Fred coming with them.
"Is this your street?" Charlie checks, and Lee nods, unclipping his seatbelt. "Thanks for coming, Lee." There's mumbled agreement from Ron and Percy, and Lee smiles faintly.
"Anytime," he says. He watches the taxi pull away and lets himself into the house as quietly as possible.
Fred texts him the next day, a mixture of thanks and apologies. George is apparently recovering well, although they aren't letting him out until they know what caused it.
Lee breathes a long sigh of relief, and changes the names in his phone to Fred and George, now he knows which is which.
He doesn't see the twins again until January, when they walk into the support session in perfect sync. Katie's back, and the general atmosphere of the room is relaxed and almost cheerful. There's a few new people, and the session starts with another video game tournament. They aren't in teams this time, and Lee ends up playing against Fred. They don't realise anything's up until they hear someone yelp in surprise, and the turn to see George giving a slightly stammered apology and Katie a couple of steps away, rubbing her arm in shock.
"What happened?" Lupin asks, glancing between them worriedly.
"I...I didn't hear her coming up behind me. Sorry, Katie, I guess you just startled me," George says, trying to laugh the almost fearful look out of his eyes.
Katie smiles. "No harm done," she says. "I was just wondering if you wanted to play, once Lee and, um..." She points to the games console, and Lee can see the relief that flits across both twins' faces at the realisation that they're still identical, still anonymous.
That afternoon, Lee gets home to find they've somehow gotten into his phone again, and he's back to Forge and Gred, side by side in his contacts.
Things tilt dizzyingly a couple of weeks later, in support group, when Lee looks away for a second and the next thing he knows, Fred is guiding George to a chair, speaking too quickly, too quietly for Lee to make out the words. George is pale, too pale, and his eyelids are drooping.
"Is he okay?" Lee asks at the same time as Lupin makes his way across to them.
"I don't know," Fred says, and there is something just short of terror on his face. "George?"
George mumbles something in response, and Fred's face clears into a grim understanding. "Okay."
"What's going on?" Lupin asks gently, glancing between the twins in a way which tells Lee that he's known the difference between them the whole time. Fred shrugs, fumbling in his pocket for his phone.
"Mum?" he says, quickly, quietly. "It's Fred. Can you come pick us up? Yeah, now would be good."
By the time the little blue car arrives, some of George's colour has come back, but it still takes both Lee and Fred to get him down the stairs. As they pull away, Lee stands at the door and watches as the twins glance back, raising a hand each and giving weakly reassuring grins, identical and wavering.
That is the last time he sees the twins smile.
part three: take a deep breath (the air in here smells of smoke and hospital)
It comes crashing down at exactly seven minutes past one in the morning, Saturday, January twentieth. Or at least, that's the date and time flashing from his phone screen as he picks it up, fingers fumbling with tiredness. "H'lo?" he mumbles before checking the caller ID.
"Is that Lee?" someone says, and it takes Lee several seconds to place the voice.
"Charlie?"
His heart feels like it has turned to pure lead and dropped into the pit of his stomach.
"Yeah, yeah, it's Charlie. I know it's late, but can you come over to the hospital?"
"Yeah, sure," Lee mumbles, already tugging clothes on over his pyjamas. "Is it... is it the twins?" He can't bring himself to say a name, as if even that small separation would take the gap to an irreconcilable distance.
He knows it's serious; he can tell by the time, by the fact that Charlie is calling from a number labelled Gred, by the heavy, exhausted sigh latched onto Charlie's "Yeah."
The waiting room is fuller this time; the Weasleys are huddled in a corner while other people are dotted around. They aren't filling out forms this time, and they aren't speaking to each other. They sit in eerie, static-filled silence. Charlie raises a hand in greeting when he sees him, and his face is drawn and pale.
"What's going on?" Lee murmurs, because it's almost too quiet to talk.
Charlie swallows audibly, and Lee notices that there's a bloodstain on his shirt and a discarded icepack on the chair behind him, a swelling graze on his forehead. "There was an accident," he begins, voice hoarse as if he's been choking on smoke. "I... I was driving them home-" He coughs, and when he looks up there's a pleading look on his face and his eyes are full of tears. "They... it's bad. Really bad."
Lee has a sinking feeling in his chest as he nods. "Where?"
Charlie nods towards the corner of the room, where Lee can see a shock of red hair sticking out from the gap between a bookcase and the wall.
"Okay," he says, taking a deep breath (the air in here smells of smoke and hospital), and he walks towards the boy.
"Hey," he says gently, kneeling beside him. "Fred?"
And that is the moment when Lee realised that the world will never stop screwing with any of them.
Because the face that looks up at him is streaked with blood and tears, and that's wrong.
The face that looks up at him has a swelling black eye, and a split lip, and that's wrong too.
Lee feels as if a carpet has been viciously yanked out from under him, because the face that looks up at him isn't Fred Weasley.
"No..."
Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong.
Lee stares, stunned, silent, his throat feeling like it's closing up, and George seems to be staring right through him. His heart is doing a funny stuttering thing, and he's glad he's already sitting down because he feels like he might collapse. "George," he whispers, head spinning. "What- what's going on?"
George's unswollen eye widens in realisation. "Oh," he breathes quietly, and a single tear falls off his eyelashes and leaves a trail in the blood smeared on his cheekbone. There's a few seconds of silence while Lee tries to get his head back under control. George laughs, a hollow, scratchy sound, and again, and Lee realises that he's actually crying, tears mixing with the blood on his face and his chest heaving as if he's trying to tear himself apart from the inside.
"George," he mumbles stupidly- people are staring, strangers frowning worriedly- "George, mate, come with me, okay, we'll... we'll go somewhere else, okay?"
He tugs George to his feet with shaking hands, sending what he hopes is a reassuring smile back to the rest of the family (only Percy raises a hand in acknowledgement) and they stumble out of the waiting room and down the corridor to where he knows there's a bathroom people don't use so much.
As soon as the door closes behind them, George rests his hands on the rim of a sink and stares into the mirror above it until his breath mists up the glass.
"George," Lee says desperately, taking in the bloody fingerprints left on the white sink, "what happened?"
George doesn't look at him, but Lee can see his gaze on his reflection behind him in the mirror. "There was an accident," he blurts quickly, the words running together. "Charlie was driving us home, we were visiting Bill and Fleur, out in the country. And there was ice on the road, or something. I think I got knocked out or something, but I opened my eyes, and we'd gone off the side of the road." Lee's heart twists in his chest. "Charlie was unconscious, and Fred..." His voice cracks, and Lee looks at the blood smeared on his hands, his face, remembers the blood staining Charlie's shirt, and feels sick.
"There was a lot of blood," George whispers, sounding like a child.
"Yeah, yeah, I can imagine," Lee mutters, even though he really, really doesn't want to.
George takes a lurching step forward, towards Lee. "What do I do if he's gone?" the boy asks, sounding broken and desperate, and all Lee can do is take the shaking hands in his and hold them as tightly as he can, guiding them under the tap and washing the blood from them. He doesn't look up; doesn't look at the face staring at them out of the mirror. George doesn't say another word, and when his hands and face are clean of blood, and Lee asks if they should go back to the waiting room, he responds with a shrug.
As soon as they walk through the door, Lee knows they've missed something. Everyone is gone, save for Charlie, who's left sitting in the corner with his head buried in his hands as the strangers in the room send him pitying looks.
Lee's hand reaches out for George's elbow, but the other boy's already moving, stumbling across the room. "Charlie." His voice is so choked and quiet it's barely audible, but somehow Charlie hears it and looks up.
Time slows.
Lee watches the brothers' faces crumble in slow motion, Charlie's into tears streaked through dried blood and stubble, George's into an awful, silent scream, one word, one name.
Charlie stands up, hands clenched into trembling fists at his side. He shakes his head, and the world ends. In the mist of slow, terrifying comprehension, Lee tries to catch George as he crumples, but Charlie gets there first, falling to the ground with his brother, pulling him close and holding him so tightly Lee can see the shapes of his knuckles through his skin.
The other people in the room look away, giving them the privacy they need.
George doesn't make a sound; he barely seems to be breathing, face frozen, lips still forming Fred's name. Then something shifts in his face and he's screaming, choking on sobs, thrashing in Charlie's arms like a child having a tantrum. Charlie's eyes are shut tight, and Lee knows why; how do you comfort the exact replica of a ghost?
He drops to his knees heavily beside the brothers, catching George's wrists as they flail. "George, George, listen, George-" and his own voice is cracked and desperate and useless against George's feral, broken howls.
A man, a giant stranger, comes and pulls George away, carrying him like a child, and Lee and Charlie follow numbly. The man sets him down in an empty room, the first one they come to, and George curls in on himself and weeps silently. "I'm sorry," the man says briefly, resting a huge hand on Charlie's shoulder. Charlie nods, but he still can't look at George without flinching.
"Thank you," Lee murmurs as the man leaves, the door clicking shut behind him. Charlie slumps to the floor, resting his head in his hands. There's still blood staining his shirt, drying to rust-brown, but Lee can see a fresh red patch across his shoulder. "Charlie?" The older man doesn't respond, the only sound in the room the faint hum of a water cooler and George's shaky, muted sobs. "Charlie, are you hurt?"
He edges closer, tugging at the collar of the ruined shirt tentatively. There's a narrow gash just beside his collarbone, blood smeared around it in gory layers. Lee winces as he sees shards of glass embedded in the torn skin, and he takes Charlie's elbow gently, pulling him to his feet. "Charlie, you need to go get this checked out." Charlie sways on his feet, and Lee has to bite back a curse. "Come on," he mutters, leading him to the door. "I think you've got a concussion, too."
"M'fine," Charlie insists hoarsely, leaning far too heavily on Lee's shoulder. "George-"
"I'll look after George," Lee says, steering him towards the door.
"Stay, then," Charlie mumbles, and Lee watches as he makes his way back along the corridor alone, one hand trailing along the wall as if it will lead him in the right direction.
He turns back to George, who hasn't moved. "George," he says, the word loud in the empty room. He can't think of what to say after that, because every answer to any question begins and ends with Fred. "I'm sorry," he says instead, and he sits on the chair next George and rests a hand on his back, and somehow by the time anyone finds them, George's head is tucked against his chest like a child's, Lee's arms wrapped round his shoulders in a simple cage of weak comfort. He isn't crying any more, just leaning against his friend with his eyes closed and his breathing deep and even.
It's Ron who finds them, gangly and awkward as he peers into the room. He doesn't seem to know what to say, and instead he just gestures for them to follow. He's pale; the freckles on his face look like flecks of paint on a blank canvas, and there's something blank about his eyes. Lee leads George, their hands clutching each other tight enough to bruise. There's nothing romantic about it, or even platonic: it's like a child holding down a balloon. Lee doesn't want to be certain, but it's almost as if letting go of George now means letting him drift away.
Ron pushes open the door, letting them through before closing it again. The whole family, bar Charlie, is in the room now- Percy and Ron by the door, Bill with an arm tight round Ginny's shoulders, Mr and Mrs Weasley sitting together, hands touching, trembling, and Fred.
He's lying perfectly still, eyes closed, and Lee could almost believe that he was sleeping until he catches a glimpse of the way the sheet dips unnaturally over his chest, his fingers just a little too rigid to be natural. George's hand slips from his, and he watches as his friend steps forward. Lee closes his eyes for a moment, feeling that it's too private, too shattered to watch, and when he opens them again there are two bodies in the bed, red haired and identical in every way save the fact that only one is still breathing.
Things blur after that, a swirl of red and white smudged by his tears.
part four: light dimmed to a fading candle (but still glowing)
He doesn't hear from George for a while.
He goes to school, to support group, moves mechanically from day to day. His parents say they understand, that it's hard for him at the moment, and he nods and keeps going anyway; what else can he do? He's invited to the funeral: the whole support group is, and they turn up, every single one of them, a full row of teenagers in black, Lupin at the end looking far too old.
George is there, of course he is. He doesn't look well: pale and gaunt, his suit hanging stiffly off his shoulders. He gives a speech, but it's empty, needing the mirror image weaving through his words, finishing his sentences when he chokes up and stumbles back to his seat alone.
"Hey," Lee says when they meet afterwards. They're outside by then, in a spreading graveyard of stone and trees.
"Hey," George says.
"How are you doing?" Lee asks. Up close, he can see the dark circles under George's eyes, their light dimmed to a fading candle.
George tilts his head to the side, as if he's analysing Lee right back. "Not so good," he says lightly, brushing off being as half-dead as he looks like it's a comment on the temperature. "We're moving to London in a few weeks. New treatment. Experimental."
"Good," Lee says, his voice tilting it into a question, and George shrugs.
"They don't know if it'll work," he points out. "I've been on their list a few months now, but I always-" He stops, coming to a halt as if the words are tugging on a leash. "I never really wanted to risk it."
Lee nods. "Good luck," he says, and there's something thick around the edges of his voice.
George hugs him- he's a couple of inches taller, but so thin now Lee's almost scared to break him. They stay like that a long time, until the wind picks up and George is shaking.
"Call me sometime," Lee murmurs eventually. "You have my number. Keep in touch."
"If it works," George says. "If the treatment works, I'll call you. I promise."
"I'll be waiting."
They begin to walk back across the churchyard to the mass of red hair and black suits that is the Weasley family, and their feet seem to make no noise on the soft grass.
"You promise me something too," George says, just out of earshot of the others.
"Sure."
"You go and ask Katie if she'd go on a date with you." His pale face is perfectly serious, and Lee stares at him for several seconds before he can say anything.
"Katie Bell?" he manages after a bit, glancing to where the support group is clustered by the gate in twos and threes. George nods, raising an eyebrow at the surprise on Lee's face. "How..."
George sighs. "Lee, you're about as subtle as a box of chickens. Ask. What's the worst that can happen?"
Lee glances across at her again. She's talking to another girl, both of them staring across the rows of headstones. She turns to look in their direction, and Led drops his gaze, feeling a hint of a blush on his face. "Okay," he says to George. "I talk to Katie, and you call me. Deal?" He holds out a hand.
"Deal," George says, a hint of a smile on his face as he takes Lee's hand. He pauses as he turns to walk away. "You're a good person to know, Lee. Thank you."
"Likewise."
And then he's gone, leaving Lee with a feeling that he can't quite tell is happy or sad and a promise he can't help but keep.
It's been a while now.
Lee's sitting in a hospital waiting room- not for him this time, but for someone to let him see Katie, even though she told him not to bother coming to the chemotherapy session, like she does every time. He comes anyway, and she never tells him to leave, just grips his hand and smiles a little.
He's sitting there with his phone, scrolling through his contacts.
Forge.
Gred.
The names are still next to each other, and sometimes his finger hovers over one, tempted to press it, just to see what might happen.
He never does, though. That wasn't what they'd promised.
"If the treatment works, I'll call you," George had said.
"I'll be waiting," he had said back. They shook on it, and he kept his end of the bargain.
That was a while ago now, but he's still waiting, because in his world, optimism can be hard to come by, so it's worth holding on to what you've got.
For him, that's a girlfriend and nearly a full year of remission now and the hope that one day, sooner or later, he'll get that call.
There are worse things to rely on.
fin.