Half

His hearing is worse, certainly, but all in all it's not that bad.

It just takes getting used to. Sometimes he still brushes a hand past and feels panic fly into his throat until he realizes, oh wait, he wasn't supposed to have an ear there. It gets sore too, especially if he sleeps on that side.

He can almost get used to looking in mirrors now. He is George, man with one ear. Different. Unique.

People's reactions still unsettle him. His mother always cries when she sees him, her eyes fixed on the ear that not's there (looking at his ear, not his face). His family tiptoes around him. His brothers (four) are concerned. Bill takes him to get drunk, but Bill's the one that ends up crying while George just sips his Firewhiskey, not feeling the empty hole in his head. Charlie runs back to Romania, but he sends letters. Ron helps out in the shop. They all seemed confused when he started work again. George doesn't understand. So he's only got one ear, how's that supposed to stop him working? Percy can't look him in the eyes, but that's nothing really new. Percy's weird anyway. It's not normal anymore, having him around.

George fucks Verity almost every night. She's good in bed, vocal, energetic, and she's the one who seduced him. She approaches him in the back rooms of the shops, slips her hand into his trousers when they're in aisles with no one else around, kneels behind the counter when he's at the register. He likes Verity. She has pretty hair and huge eyes and a lovely laugh, though he doesn't hear it that often. She calls him "Mr. Weasley" all the time. He thinks it gets her off.

A customer asks him when he's going to be bringing out some new products, and George blankly stares for a moment before stammering a reply. He goes into the laboratory that night, first time in months, and he turns on the light and picks up some beakers and brushes dust off some boxes and looks at the grey smudges on his fingertips and leaves.

Verity writhes underneath him, Verity tenses, Verity gasps in little rushes of air, Verity moans, and George moans too, rush and relaxing, collapsing on top of her, face buried in her sweaty neck, sweaty hair tickling his nose.

She caresses his back and murmurs the wrong name in his (one) ear. He doesn't correct her. His hearing isn't too good, anyway.

George gets up and goes to the bathroom, washes his hands, splashes water on his face, stares in the mirror. This is punishment. This is pain. This is for all the times he wished he would be different, for every moment he wanted to be Just George, for every day he dreamt of being alone. He stares in the mirror and he sees a red-haired man with one ear and empty eyes, and he can't pretend that the face looking back at him is anyone's but his. He is not even allowed that.

This is pain. This is punishment.

George, Just George, gets dressed and leaves Verity's bedroom. She rushes after him, and follows him out to the silent street, dark and swirling lightly with snow. He begins to walk away, slowly, steadily, and she calls out after him. She says the right name, but his hearing isn't good and he continues down the empty street.