A/N at the end once again.
When George blearily opened his eyes the next morning, it was already 10 o'clock. He lay there for a moment, wondering bemusedly why this particular time was ringing a bell, when he realized – he was going to be very, very late for his father's appointment. He hurtled out of bed and rushed around the room, attempting to get ready as quickly as possible. He knew why he'd overslept – Ron, who hadn't wanted to have that conversation in the first place, had had a hard time leaving the flat when they'd finished talking. Seeing his generally oblivious little brother in that many kinds of pain had drained George more than he cared to admit, and he'd fallen into bed the moment Ron had gone, but it had taken him an obscenely long time to fall asleep. He was wide awake until long after 2 in the morning, wondering not for the first time how they were all going to get through this.
By the time George made it over to St. Mungo's, it was half 10, and his parents were not in the waiting room. When he breathlessly gave his name to the witch sitting at the receptionist desk, she sighed, pushed back her chair, and motioned for him to follow her back. He pushed his way through the swinging doors, and when they got to the closed door in question, she indicated silently that he should wait while she knocked. There was a muffled noise; she opened the door a crack, mouthed something to the person behind it and then stepped back to allow George into the room. He pushed his way past her impatiently, an apology on his lips – and then he froze.
Molly and Arthur were sitting in the two seats closest to where he was standing. Arthur didn't look up at George when he walked in, but Molly did, and George could see the tears swimming in her eyes even as she tried desperately for a small smile.
"Hello, dear," she said, and her voice was quieter than George could ever remember hearing it before. He tried to smile back as he pulled up the chair that was on the other side of his mother, but before he could say hello, she grabbed his hand tightly. He looked at her in surprise, but she didn't look at him again. Instead, she turned to the healer and said, "This is our son. This is George."
George shifted slightly so he, too, was looking at the healer, and she looked back at him gravely. "Hello, George. I'm Healer Jones. It's nice to meet you."
He nodded. "I'm sorry I'm late," he managed to say now, but his voice was unsteady, and he bit his lip. He stared at the healer as if willing her to speak. If she didn't, he'd have to look at his father, and – and the thought scared him. He didn't know why, but he knew that if he did – well, this was already real. But he had a feeling it was about to become terrifying.
He was right. Healer Jones sighed and then said, "Let me sum up for you what I just told your parents. After your father's examination this morning, we got back the results, and we have a better idea of the progress of the disease right now as well as a time frame. I'm afraid – I'm afraid the news is worse than I'd anticipated."
George swallowed hard, but he nodded for her to continue, trying to pretend his grip on his mother's hand hadn't tightened and not vice versa.
"I told your parents this already – there isn't much more than a month left – two at most. And there are only a few more weeks where your father will really be lucid. The tumor is growing at an incredibly rapid pace, and once it reaches a certain size, it will interfere with his memory. I can't promise he'll remember you or your siblings. I …" She stopped speaking. George was blinking hard now, and all of the color had drained from his face.
She stood up and came around her desk, crouching before him to put a hand on his shoulder.
"George? Do you need a glass of water?"
He stared at her for a moment, unseeing, and Molly turned to him.
"George?" she echoed. "Healer Jones asked if you wanted…"
He turned to her. "I don't want water," he rasped. He pulled his hand from hers and jumped to his feet. Without looking at his father – because that made sense, didn't it? that the last thing he could bear right now was looking at his father, for Merlin's sake? – he ran.
Hours later, Bill and Fleur met up outside of Gringotts. They looked at each other expectantly, and then Bill said, "George – he contacted you, right?"
Fleur shook her head slowly. "'E did not. I sought 'e was going to contact you."
For a moment, they stared at each other, and then Bill said slowly, "I think we need to get to my parents."
Fleur nodded and took his arm. Within moments, they were standing in the garden, and Bill was squaring his shoulders before setting off for the back door.
They walked into a sight that stunned both of them. Molly was sitting alone in the kitchen. Her head was buried in her arms, and she was shaking with sobs, but she wasn't making a sound. Bill felt his stomach plummet to somewhere near his feet, and he had to clear his throat before he whispered, "Mum?"
She looked up with a start, wiping her eyes hurriedly.
"Oh, oh, hello Bill. Fleur, come in and sit down."
She stood up quickly, seemingly about to bustle off and make tea, when Bill grabbed her hand. At his touch, she froze. She didn't look at him, but both he and Fleur could see from the way her shoulders slumped that she wouldn't be able to move another inch.
"Come sit," Bill said gently, and he pulled her back to the table.
Fleur moved to the stove to make the tea as Bill and his mother sat side by side. For a moment, neither of them said anything, and then Bill asked, "Where's Dad?"
Molly's mouth trembled, but she said, "He's – he's upstairs. He's lying down."
Bill paused before asking the next question. "Is he – how is he feeling? What did the healer say today?"
Molly shook her head. She didn't answer. She couldn't. Every time she replayed the words in her mind, their meaning became even more incomprehensible. As Bill watched her struggle to speak, though, the ever-present knot of fear in his stomach tightened.
"Mum?" he asked, and he hated how scared he knew he sounded. He cleared his throat again. "Mum, you have to tell us what she said."
She couldn't look at her son. She'd already seen what these words did to one of them, and she stared straight ahead as she relayed the latest news to her oldest child. When she finished, the silence in the kitchen was broken only by the ticking of the clock. Bill glanced at it now, almost involuntarily. Arthur's hand was pointing to… he blinked. Mortal peril. The last time any of their hands had pointed to mortal peril, Fred had…
No. Bill shook his head as if this would rid it of reality, and now Fleur was hurrying back to the table, three steaming mugs floating before her. They landed gently on the table, and Fleur sat across from her husband and his mother. She tried not to look directly at Bill, though. She'd heard every word Molly had said, and she knew that one look from her would be all it would take for Bill to lose control. She also knew that that was the last thing he wanted.
"Molly, what can we do?" she asked instead, and now her mother-in-law turned to her, blinking hard.
"George," she said, her voice wavering for the first time, and Bill realized then that he hadn't asked her yet why George hadn't sent his patronus. One look at her face, though, told him that he wouldn't like the answer.
"He got to the appointment late, so Healer Jones filled him in on everything I just told you, but – but he couldn't handle it. He ran from the hospital. At first I thought he'd come back here, but he didn't. I was going to floo you at work, but I got caught up here helping your father. Bill – I haven't heard from him in hours now. Could you –"
It was the one thing he could do, and he leapt to his feet. "Fleur, will you stay here with Mum and Dad?"
It was hardly a question, and she nodded immediately. He leaned across the table to kiss her quickly and then gave his mother a quick hug.
"I'll be back as soon as I find him," he promised. "I have some ideas of where to look."
And before either of them could say another word, he was gone.
Neither Percy nor Ron had heard from George. Charlie hadn't either. Bill couldn't bring himself to repeat the news his mother had told him, so he told each of them that they should get to the Burrow as quickly as possible and that he'd meet them back there. He didn't offer to let them help him find George. And after one look at him, none of them asked. He needed this responsibility, and they all knew it. (He knew it too. It kept him from thinking. He did not want to think.)
George wasn't at the shop or his flat. He wasn't in the Leaky Cauldron. He wasn't in the Three Broomsticks or the Hog's Head. He wasn't at the memorial wall at Hogwarts or what everyone had come to think of as the Weasley twins' hallway or even at Fred's grave. Bill was starting to panic and was staring around the grounds of Hogwarts when a Stag Patronus came galloping up to him.
"Bill." It was Harry's voice, and Bill blinked in surprise. "Ron told me you're looking for George. He's – he's here. At Grimmauld Place. He's not saying anything, though. Come when you can."
For a moment, Bill stared in disbelief at the Patronus. Then, he hurried from the grounds, apparating the moment he stepped outside the gates.
When he walked into the former headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, he marveled for a moment at how different it looked now. But then Harry came rushing up to him, and his face was more serious than Bill could ever remember seeing it.
"He's been here all day," he said in a low voice. "I had no idea that none of you knew where he was. He hasn't said a word to me. If I'd known …" he trailed off when Bill grasped his arm.
"It's ok, Harry. Thanks for letting me know now. I'm just – I'm glad he's safe."
He looked toward the living room and then back at Harry. "Is he in there?"
Harry shook his head, and now he looked slightly confused. "He's – he's in the kitchen. Has been all day. Hasn't eaten a thing, but he won't get out of the chair."
Bill didn't say another word to Harry then, merely walked the rest of the way to the kitchen. He knew that Harry wouldn't follow.
When he walked into the room, George didn't look up. He was staring at the table though Bill would have been surprised if he were even seeing it at all. Slowly, cautiously, he took the seat across from him.
After a long silence, he said softly, "George?"
His younger brother looked up, but it was as if he were in a deep trance. He stared at Bill, but he didn't say a word.
Bill shifted uncomfortably. He spoke again. "George, we're all worried about you. Mum, especially. She said you disappeared hours ago."
Still, George stared at him. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. When he opened it again, he said words that made very little sense to his older brother.
"When we were in this room – he was ok."
Bill stared at him. "When you were – what?"
George shook his head, clearly frustrated. "When we were in this room – when Mum was at St. Mungo's with Dad – Dad was – he was ok. Mum came back, and she said 'He's going to be all right. He's sleeping. We can all go and see him later.'" He was still looking at Bill, but now Bill knew for sure he wasn't seeing him. He was right. George's next words made it very clear who he was seeing, in fact. "Fred – Fred couldn't take it. He sat down – in that chair you're in now. He covered his face because he didn't want Ron or Ginny to see, but I knew he was crying. I almost was too. So was Ron. But – but what was there to cry about? Nothing. Dad was ok. There was nothing to cry about…"
And Bill knew that George was completely unaware of the tears he could see welling up in his eyes, so he stood up very slowly and came around the table. When he sat down next to George and put his arm around him, George blinked. For a moment, it seemed as if he weren't going to say anything else, but then he shouted, "When we were in this room, he was OK!" He looked at Bill, and Bill looked at him, and then, without any further warning, George broke.
Bill pulled him into his arms as he started crying, and he held him tightly as he tried to stop, but the harder he tried, the worse it got. It was a long time before he was calm enough to pull away. When he did, he wiped his eyes with his sleeve and leaned back in his chair. He sighed.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled. "It's just – well, you spoke to Mum, obviously."
Bill nodded. "She told me what happened this morning," he said, and George winced.
"I was trying to do the right thing," he tried to explain, but his voice shook. He cleared his throat before continuing. "I – I wanted to help Ron. He told me that it was too hard for him. I thought I could do it. But I couldn't. I ran, Bill. I ran, and I left Mum and Dad sitting there."
George's face was scarlet, and he couldn't look at his brother any longer. He was staring at the table when Bill's reasonable voice said, "Did any of us expect the news to be like this?"
"Well, no but.."
Bill cut him off. "Have any of us struck you as the model of stability these days?"
George's lips twitched in the ghost of a smile. "Not exactly, but…"
Bill cut him off once again. "Enough with the 'but's. Stop apologizing. It sounds rotten, yes, when you put it that way – but it wasn't that way. You ran out because you love Dad too much to be able to listen to news like that and just take it. And he knows it, and Mum knows it too. So just – stop. Stop beating yourself up over this. We have too many other things to worry about right now."
George glanced at him for a moment, and then he nodded, but Bill could tell there was more he needed to say. He waited patiently, and then George said in a small voice, "He does know, right? How much we all love him?"
Bill had to swallow hard against a lump in his throat. He nodded before realizing that George was looking at the table again.
"Yes," he managed to say. "He knows."
The brothers looked at each other then, and George got to his feet. After a moment, Bill did the same.
"Let's go back to Mum and Dad."
George said it, and Bill permitted himself a small sigh of relief. He wished for a moment that he could think of this as a crisis averted, but he realized immediately that he knew better. These breakdowns, these moments of temporary insanity – these were quickly becoming their way of life.
A/N: Firstly, some of the words in this chapter were taken directly from page 423 in Order of the Phoenix. Secondly, if this chapter or any future chapters make you cry, all blame lies with Lisa, little0bird. A fantastic author in her own right (who will also make you cry), she has given me some of my new saddest ideas. She's generously agreed to take the blame for tears. (Ok, I'll take some of it too.) Thirdly, Dodger Gilmore – you knew George would break down next. I hope Bill as comforter worked for you. And finally – Katy, I want it on record that I was MUCH nicer than you are being right now because of the speediness of this update. Ok, that's all. PLEASE read and REVIEW!
