Author's Note: A new chapter for my new story! I know it's quite different from my last two stories but I quite like it. Let me know what you think! Not Rowling.
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"HERMIONE?" a familiar, mellifluous voice asked incredulously. Her head wrenched up from her papers and her eyes connected with a pair of familiar blue ones.
"GEORGE?" She stared at him and he stared right back, shock registering on both their faces.
"You're my patient?" she cried at the exact time he cried, "You're the healer?" They stared at each other. Her eyes flicked down to the folder in her hand, which she quickly raised to read.
"Wait…you're supposed to not have your memory." She looked up at him, a suspicious look on her face.
"That is correct."
"But you remembered my name."
"That is also correct." She stared at him and he suddenly blushed a little under her scrutiny. She recognized the look on his face. It was the guilty look he and Fred had always assumed when their mother had caught them at something. No matter how old he was, he always looked a bit like scared little boy when he was cornered.
"Then why are you here?" she asked slowly. He stopped looking at her and focused his suddenly wide eyes on the floor instead. From where she was standing, she could now only see the top of his head. She walked forward and, proper bedside manner be damned, raised his chin gently with her fingers, yet he still refused to look at her. "George?" He continued to look at the floor, trying to remove his face from her grasp. "George," she said sternly, her hand still forcing his face up. He finally looked at her and she saw that his face had lost all its color, his freckles standing out against his white face, his blue eyes shocking against the pale canvas. "What is it?" she asked quietly, thankful for the first time that she was the only doctor on call. He mumbled something but she missed it. "What?"
He took in a deep breath, as if steeling himself. "I've been thinking about killing myself," he said quietly. A sort of rushing noise filled her ears as she watched him, his words still processing through a brain that was suddenly about as quick as cold molasses.
…
It was an odd sensation to finally say it out loud. Although he had been thinking about it for quite a while now, he had never said it out loud. He supposed it was a lot more real and terrifying if he said it aloud. He saw her face grow pale and her eyes widen as her hand fell from his face, as if she had forgotten to keep it outstretched.
"Excuse me?" she asked weakly.
"I've been thinking about killing myself," he repeated in a hollow voice.
"And you're here because…" She trailed off, watching him nervously.
"Because I keep almost doing it and stopping myself and I want to make sure someone makes sure I don't," he said quietly, hanging his head.
"But what about your mum or-"
"I can't, Hermione. I can't tell her this. I can't tell the family. I can't do this to them. It's still hard enough without Fred." He started to choke up and immediately stopped talking, trying to maintain his composure as best as possible.
"Is that why you haven't done it?" He looked up at her from his perch on the examination table, confused. "You haven't because you realize it's hard enough with one of you gone, so both of you would just be so much worse. Is that right?" She smiled at him, a little sadly. His brow wrinkled as he thought about this. He had never actually thought about what had made him stop each time; he just had. What she said made perfect sense though. He raised his head and looked at her, watched her, his eyes searching her face. He hadn't seen her in over six months. Almost a year, actually. He knew she had gotten into Healer Training early, as they had thrown a little celebration for her at the Burrow, but after that, she seemed to have disappeared, fallen completely off the face of the earth. He was sure she still corresponded with Harry, Ron, and Ginny constantly, but as he spent most of his time at work or in his dark apartment, he wasn't privy to any of this information.
"Why haven't you been around to the Burrow this past year?"
"Is that why you're stopping yourself?"
"Answer my question."
"Answer mine." His eyes scanned her face, seeing the determination in her expression, her arms crossed as she leaned against the counter opposite him, her jaw set, her mouth a thin line. She came off thoroughly imposing and serious, but her eyes told a different story. Her eyes were glassy with unshed tears, a look of sadness mingled with fear present in her eyes. He sighed.
"I've never actually thought consciously about why I keep stopping myself, but your theory makes sense. Quite a bit of sense, actually."
She nodded, processing this information. "I've been so bogged down with getting out of the program early, and when I did, I worked night and day to get out of the crappy position I was in as the newcomer," she answered quietly, their roles now switched as she stared at the ground and he watched her. "I've worked really hard to get here and this is my third 24 hour shift this week, but I don't care, because I'm fighting to prove I can do what the other healers do and just as well. Being the supposed 'brightest witch of our age' doesn't mean anything here – it's prove yourself or go home."
"But you wouldn't be happy if they just handed it to you, would you?" She smiled wryly and finally looked up at him.
"For never having been my friend at school, you seem to understand me quite well."
"Well, I wouldn't say that," he said with a small grin. "I think they're probably a lot that people don't understand about you, me included. You might not be a complete bookworm chastising pranksters all the time, but anyone who knew you would know you're a fighter."
…
She smiled at him, tilting her head, her clear brown eyes scanning his face. Maybe he was right. He probably had hidden depths as well; fears, anger, and sadness buried under the mask of smiles and laughter he always wore. Those bright blue eyes were old beyond their years and told of all the death he had seen and all the sadness he had felt. That smile, though ever-present, sometimes looked rather forced and failed to reach his eyes.
"George, why did you come here?" Although she thought she knew the answer, she wanted to hear it from him.
"Because I can't do this to my family."
"Why did you fake being obliviated?"
"Because I thought it was the best way to get to someone who knew more than magic. Someone who knew about people."
"What do you think Fred would have said about your suicide attempts?"
He froze and stared at her and as he did so, Hermione saw the mask fall off. She saw the true George, exposed and raw; sadness, loss, fear, and agony etched on his face. He raised his eyes to hers, looking thoroughly wounded, and replied in a whisper, "I think he's what's stopping me. I think he wants me to be brave for him." His shoulders shook as a shuddering sob overwhelmed him before he could stop it. Without thinking about protocol, without thinking about proper bedside manner, without thinking of the separation between the patient and his healer, she walked forward and opened her arms, enveloping him in a tight hug. She felt his arms slowly loop around her waist, his body shaking as he tried to hold back tears. She stood there and held his shoulders, his face buried in her shoulder, and finally realized why he was here, even if he himself didn't fully know. He didn't need a healer, he didn't even need a therapist; he needed a friend, someone close enough that he could express his honest feelings to yet far enough removed from the picture that they would not judge him or coddle him or reprimand him for having such thoughts.
About five minutes later, the silent sobs that wracked his body ceased and she heard him sniff quietly. "You okay?" she whispered. She heard a watery chuckle next to her ear.
"Is that a rhetorical question?"
She chuckled. "I suppose. Well, instead, how are you feeling?"
"Raw," he said simply, and she backed up slightly so as to see the wry smile on his face. "Admitting the truth is a lot harder than pretending to have no memory." His hands slipped from her waist and she backed up, her arms dropping to her sides. "It would probably be a lot easier without my memory, a lot less painful." She watched as the smile slowly slid off his face, leaving him as he was inside, old beyond his years, sadder than any person should be, and completely lost.
"How about this? I write down that you were confunded rather than had your memory wiped, but that you need further study. I'll go to the healer in charge of this ward tomorrow morning and explain everything. Hopefully, she will understand and allow you to stay here. That's all we can hope for at," she checked her watch, "one in the morning." She turned to write everything down on his chart. She looked up a moment later, not having heard a response of any kind. He was smiling at her, a soft smile that seemed to turn down slightly at the edges, a smile that came from the midst of his sadness.
"Thank you, Hermione, for understanding" he said softly. She smiled back.
"Thank you for telling me," she replied.
