"Georgie…"

George hated hearing how weak his brother sounded now; he had been visiting every day since his twin had woken up just a week ago, and every time the older male spoke, he was slurred and slow and confused. Molly and Arthur kept telling him repeatedly it was brain injury from the Quidditch incident, but he didn't believe that; he had watched many times for himself just how many pills the nurses were constantly slipping his big brother, and he wasn't sure why anyone would need a bloody pharmacy being shoved down their throats several times a day.

George sat on the edge of the bed next to his brother. It was just them today; Molly was out shopping and would be back later to collect her second-youngest son because, for reasons he didn't think he wanted to know, Molly hadn't visited Fred once since she had popped in after he had initially woken. It was a painful thing to ponder; why no one else in their family seemed to want to make the effort to visit Fred apart from George himself; couldn't anyone understand that what Fred had done had only happened because he loved George and not because he was a twisted, evil human being?

He reached out to thread his fingers slowly through red hair that had once been so soft and silky and clean but was now grimy as testament to just how little support he was receiving at St. Mungo's. "Fred… Fred, how are you feeling?"

Fred groaned. He rolled onto his side so he could drop his head to his brother's lap. A grimace crossed his face as he slowly raised his hand to touch his temple. He let out a groan and curled in on himself tighter. "Like shit… Got a raging headache… It never goes away…"

The younger fingered the white bandage that remained wrapped around Fred's head – why it was still there, he didn't know as he knew full-well the physical damage could have been repaired well enough to leave only scarring behind; it was how Madam Pomfrey had treated his wrists that day... He frowned. "Mum says you have brain injuries…"

Fred snorted bitterly. "Like hell I do, mate… I'd be perfectly fine if they'd give me painkillers when I ask for them… But they're scared of me. I can tell. They don't want to be around me any more than they have to be…"

It was true. George had overheard the staff explaining to his parents once how they were always hesitant to care for Fred – all because Fred loved his brother and had been willing to protect George through any means necessary… It was infuriating for him, really, to have so many people judging Fred over his actions when it should have been that Slytherin who was being judged…

It was agonising. Why was Fred being the one to cop every bit of black-lash when Fred hadn't even been the one to rape and abuse and torture another student…? That student had gotten away with it all without even so much as a talking to… As far as George was concerned, Fred was his hero for being the only one who cared enough to even try and take George's side through it all.

"They whisper." Fred's own voice lowered into a murmur now. "They want to see me sent to Azkaban… I am a 'risk'…"

"You're not a risk," George promised. "You're my brother. What he did… He deserved those curses…"

Fred nodded in agreement. He spoke now in a faraway tone. "…I really wanted to kill him, Georgie. I wanted him to suffer… Does that… make me a bad person…?"

"Of course not, Fred."

"I would have killed him… I'd have made him suffer as much as you are suffering. That's why I could cast Crucio. I meant it, Georgie. It was… the easiest spell I've ever casted."

George's fingers continued to thread through dirty red hair. "Fred, if… If that had happened to you… I think I'd have been able to do the exact same thing. I understand."

Fred turned his head to the side to look into his twin's eyes. He groaned loudly and squeezed his eyes shut tight as his head pounded against his skull furiously, but even so, he still reached out to ghost his fingertips against his brother's cheek. He forced his eyes open to look into his twin's, and no words were spoken as they both leant inwards at the same time to press their lips together and kiss desperately. Their tongues slid into each other's mouths to taste everything they already knew so well, but their tongues never battled for dominance; instead, they only danced together in a tango they knew so well, it was second nature to them both.

They broke apart for air when Fred found his lungs couldn't hold out as well as they used to – probably a product of the ribs that had broken after coming off his broom and smashing through every damned wooden beam there was next to the Slytherin stand on the way to the ground, he figured. Part of him was thankful he remembered nothing after the split second of searing pain in his head after impact; from the injuries he had been told he'd received, he didn't want to be conscious to feel any of it.

"When is mum going to let me come home…?" Bitterness. An emotion they both seemed to be living in now. "I hate it here…"

"Mum doesn't know… The staff say… it's too dangerous to let you come home… They said to mum there's a good chance you'll cast all those curses on us next…"

"…Hurt my little brother…?" Fred turned his head to meet George's eyes. He took the other's warm hand in his and squeezed. "I could never hurt my baby brother…"

"I know, Fred." George really did. "We know. But they don't."

The school term was over, and though his siblings were back home with him for the holidays, Fred wasn't. George supposed it had something to do with just how depressed he had been without his twin around because, one early morning after Ronald had finally convinced him to come downstairs for breakfast and at least join them even if he had no intentions of eating, he walked with his head held low into the kitchen before he startled at the sight of Fred sitting at the dining table, looking so very unwell, he may as well go join the ghoul that lived in their attic.

"Fred!" George had run over and embraced his deathly-pale brother tight, though it broke his heart to have the other not so much as twitch in response; could Fred even notice someone had their arms wrapped around him…? He looked at his father with pleading eyes and asked, "What's wrong with him…?"

Molly and Arthur looked at each other nervously before Arthur said in a tender tone, "Your mother and I agreed that Fred can come home for the holidays because we knew how lonely you've been without him… However, the staff at St. Mungo's were very insistent we keep him heavily medicated just for precautions."

"Precautions?!" George felt anger swell in his chest; he wasn't one to get angry easily, but the more people spoke about his brother like he was Voldemort's right-hand man, the more he found his temper reaching boiling point until he wanted to grab them all by the fronts of their shirts and shake them as he screamed how wrong they were to think Fred had it in him to bring harm to anyone who didn't deserve it. "What precautions?! Fred isn't going to hurt anyone!"

The younger twin couldn't bear to hear any more on this matter, and with all the strength he had left within him, he slung Fred over his shoulder and dragged the older male up to their bedroom.

"Don't worry, Fred," George promised as he started the slow journey up the first flight of stairs, "I'm not going to cry anymore. I was crying so much, it drove you into madness. You couldn't stand seeing me like that, and look at what it's done to you. But it's okay now, Fred; you're my brother, and I'm going to protect you, just like how you always tried to protect me."

There was no response, but that was okay; George didn't need to hear anything in this moment.

It was once they were finally upstairs and in their bedroom did George relax. He laid his brother down on the bed they always shared and tucked him in tight before he straightened back up and said, "I'm gonna go get your food; you're so thin, Fred…"

Once he had come back downstairs and was standing in the dining room with his family again, he asked softly, "Mum…? Why's Fred… so quiet…?"

"They sedated him before they'd let us bring him home…" Arthur's eyes closed as he sighed softly, as if George wasn't the only person this caused pain to. "Sorry, George… It was the best we could do for you both…"

Molly nodded. "He's probably asleep right now, and if he is, let him rest; he's going to need as much of it as he can get."

"Okay…"

"Oh, and honey…"

George stopped again, with his back to his family and a single plate of food in his hands. "…"

"Make sure he takes his medication…"

The plate clattered to the ground as George ripped at his own hair and keened; this was just too much; he had to get away now before his own parents drove him as mad as he had driven Fred. He snatched up the second plate of food by another empty seat he knew had been intended for him as it was such a tiny serving compared to the large amounts of food on everyone else's plates; they knew it was pointless trying to feed George because he just wouldn't eat anything anyway…

He rushed back up the staircase and made it to his bedroom in record time, where he was audience to the fact that his mother had been right in her assumption; Fred's eyes were flickering before they finally closed, and George whimpered as he moved to jump onto the bed next to his brother and caress the other's cheek.

"No, Freddie, don't fall asleep! You need to eat!" His thumb caressed pale, freckled flesh tenderly, and it was enough for the older twin's eyelids to flicker again before they opened and he was presented with a dazed, exhausted expression. George gave a sigh of relief; if he could at least feed Fred something, he would be okay with letting the other sleep. "You… You don't have to eat everything… Maybe even just this one egg will be enough… Just please… Eat something for me, Freddie!"

Fred may as well have been a corpse with how silent and lax he was as he was moved into a sitting position to rest against the headboard of the bed. His eyes kept closing, opening again only at the touch of George's hands against his cheeks to wake him up. He barely responded to the tiny bits of egg that were pressed against his lips on the fork; it was taking him seconds to even register it was there before he'd open his mouth and chew so slowly at it, Christmas was sure to have come and gone by the time he'd eaten it all.

"Freddie, keep eating…" The egg finally disappeared from the plate, leaving only a single sausage and strand of bacon. George cut up the sausage into tiny pieces so his twin didn't choke, but as he did so, Fred had slipped off into sleep once again, and this time he wasn't coming back out of it, as hard as George tried.

He finally gave up. He moved the plate onto the bedside table so he could lay Fred back down on the mattress and tuck him in so tightly, he was sure to stay warm and comfortable for hours. It wasn't that the day was cold – in fact, it was rather warm outside and now that he was thinking about it, putting blankets over him might overheat him, but he didn't want to look at how terribly thin his twin's body had become until he was now nothing but skin wrapped tightly around sinew and bones.

He stood up and moved to sit next to the window on the other side of the room so he could stare out past the crop fields and to the tiny muggle village that was only just visible past the glimmer of the lake. The silence of his bedroom that had been consuming him since his parents had come to take him home didn't leave, even with Fred's tiny breaths audible; in fact, it seemed to only grow louder. No one in the Weasley family was used to silence coming from their room, especially not the twins themselves. It had always been filled with laughter and explosions, but not now. Not anymore. But if anyone were to poke their head past the doorway and see Fred, fast asleep in the bed looking sicklier than anyone had ever seen him, and George sitting at the window with his arms wrapped around his knees in a tight hug and his chin on top of them, maybe they'd have understood.

Fred slept all day. George couldn't blame his brother, even as it neared ever closer to dinnertime and he wanted so desperately for his twin to wake up and tell him nothing had happened and it was all just in George's head – that he was just going crazy and none of the events had ever happened aside from in his delusions. No… It was reasonable that it was probably calming for Fred to finally be somewhere he could relax and catch up on desperately needed sleep. The younger twin frowned; if it weren't for him, though, Fred would never have been taken to St. Mungo's in the first place…

George stood up, and as silent as a mouse, he crept over to his brother to sit next to him and thread his fingers through soft red hair. He gave a tiny smile; maybe if they could show everyone that Fred was okay… That he wasn't the monster they wanted to believe he was… They would let him come home from St. Mungo's permanently…

"Freddie…" The exhaustion that had been weighing him down for so long finally lifted at his brother's proximity. He laid down so he could curl up against his twin's front and close his eyes. "Freddie, I know you're… not dangerous at all… And I'm going… to prove that to everyone… I won't… let them think badly of you anymore…"