A/N: Written for the QLFC Reserve League 2.0

Season 4 Round 12 - Out Of The Ordinary

Prompt chosen: Write a DRAMATIC story about THE WEASLEY FAMILY

Word count (before A/N): 4,330 words

Warnings: PTSD-induced panic attack does take place. Also some cursing, cause the Weasleys are a colorful bunch.

Ginny stood in the doorway, tears already building in the corners of her eyes.

"He's not coming." Her voice was strained, and Ron knew she didn't want to let the tears out. She'd been crying a lot, and that wasn't like Ginny. But… everyone wasn't really acting like themselves these days.

"I'm, um, I'm gonna wait upstairs till everyone's back," Ginny added, already mounting the first few stairs. She was gone before he could reply.

Ron's head dropped to his hands. Beside him on the couch, Hermione shifted to face him. They'd been curled up together for most of the morning, waiting. Harry and Ron's parents were at the Ministry, going over what had happened in the last ten months. Again. Kingsley wanted every detail of their Horcrux hunt recorded before it was presented to the press, and Harry was doing his best to comply. Ron and Hermione had already spent countless hours in the offices at the Ministry, recounting every tiny stone and tree they could remember until the interim Minister of Magic said they could leave.

Now they just needed Harry.

Ron was grateful to be out of the hot seat, honestly. Every question he answered was greeted with more questions, and each question was laced with doubt. He had felt like his skin would melt off under the glare of the Aurors and the other officials recording his statement. If they'd let Ron, Hermione, and Harry speak together, it might have been different. But they didn't.

"Do you think he'll ever come back?"

Ron pulled himself out of the interrogation room and back to the Burrow, his mind reeled in by Hermione's words. He looked at her, still seated beside him, her face serene. But he saw the worry in her beautiful brown eyes. Ginny had been asking George to come for dinner every single day since the battle three weeks ago, and every single bloody day he'd shut her out.

"He has to," Ron finally answered. Because George wasn't the only one hurting, and eventually he'd have to talk to his family again.

She nodded, her eyebrows scrunching up in thought. "I think I should go up there," Hermione said, placing a gentle hand on Ron's thigh.

The quiet intimacy of it made his heart ache. He still had so much he wanted to say to her. So much he wanted to get off his chest, but instead left unspoken because everything else was shite, and he didn't want that surrounding his words.

"Yeah." Ron laced his hand into hers, hoping his actions were all she needed. He squeezed her fingers gently and brought them to his lips. The kiss made her smile. She squeezed back before letting go and vanished up the stairs behind his sister.

Merlin, he was in trouble, Ron thought. When the dust settled, and he finally said all those words circling around his head… yeah. Trouble.

At least, the good kind, he thought, smiling.

Then Ron sighed, his face falling back to his hands. He was filled with so much of everything lately—grief, anger, joy, resentment. Love. Hate. He couldn't get a grip on it, and it killed him to see his family struggling through it, too.

But he was also so grateful that they were healing together, as best they could. Bill, Fleur, and Charlie were coming home every night to be with their parents. Dinners weren't boisterous like they used to be, but they had this warmth to them. Like everyone's love for each other was enough to sew together the broken threads left by the war.

George was making it so damn difficult, though, acting like no one else was hurting. Like no one else felt the loss of their brother.

"We should talk to him."

Ron jerked his head up, unaware that he was no longer alone.

Percy. It was Percy now, standing in the doorway, his eyes dry, but his voice slick with emotion. The middle Weasley son had moved back into his old room after the funeral, and for the most part, kept to himself and his own chores. In fact, Ron had thought he was at work that morning. Not at home, waiting like the rest of them.

Ron swallowed the lump building in his throat. He wasn't used to seeing Percy at home and even less used to talking to him. Especially one on one.

"George," Percy continued. "I reckon it'll take more than a shut door to stop us."

Ron nodded. Before he could think about what was happening, he was following his older brother into the kitchen toward the fireplace. When they reached it, Percy paused.

"Er, uhm." Percy turned to face Ron, his ears the slightest tinge of pink. "I've never actually been to the shop or their flat before."

"Oh," Ron said, trying to ignore the fact Percy said their instead of his. Because it was just George's now, wasn't it? Ron shook the thought away and stepped in front of Percy. Before he grabbed a handful of Floo powder, however, he pulled out his wand.

Silently, he cast his spell. A silver jack russell terrier sprouted from the tip of his wand before scampering happily out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

"Probably better to give Hermione a heads up," he explained, although Percy wasn't really watching him. Instead, his eyes were rooted on the spot where the terrier had manifested, a wisp of its silver magic still dancing in the air.

"Your Patronus—" was all Percy got out before Ron shoved his hand into the powder, threw it into the fireplace, and stepped into the harmless emerald green flames.

"Wizard Wheezes Stockroom!" And he was whisked away before he could hear the thoughts caught on Percy's lips.

Moments later, Ron stepped out of the fireplace in the stockroom of his brothers' shop. He'd only been there a few times before, but he knew immediately something was off. There were no boxes on the shelves, no bells and whistles screaming in his ear. Broken products were strewn about the floor. Some appeared to have been swept haphazardly to the side to create a walking path, but other than that tiny detail, it looked like no one had been there for months.

Which was mostly true, considering the shop had been closed since October. But still, it looked more eerie in the stockroom, surrounded by empty shelves and darkness, than it had staring out over the crowd of Death Eaters at Hogwarts. Ron shivered.

Suddenly, the darkness was flooded with green light, and Percy stepped into the room.

"My Patronus is a dog, too," he all but screamed. Behind his glasses, Ron thought he caught a glimpse of redness pressing around his brother's pale blue eyes, but Percy looked away before he could be sure. "That's all I was going to say."

"Cool," Ron replied, unsure what an appropriate response should have been. "Uh, follow me."

Ron led the way to the doorway hidden behind the sixth shelf at the back of the stockroom. It led to a set of stairs, which led to the flat George lived in.

He didn't know what he actually expected to hear from Percy back at the Burrow, but… not that. Maybe a critique or even astonishment that Ron could produce a full-fledged corporeal Patronus. Just… not that. He felt guilty for running away, and his anxiety started to press down on him like an over-sized oliphaunt.

"You really think he wants to see us?"

"No," came Percy's reply.

Ron whipped around to face him.

"He doesn't want to see anyone, does he?" Percy asked. "But he's not going to be able to say a few sulky words and shut a door in our face. He's—he'll have to talk."

For as smart as Percy always seemed to be, this was dumber than a pile of rocks.

"He can absolutely shut the door on us." Even Ron heard the irritation in his own voice.

"But we're not going to let him." With that, Percy took the lead, mounting the stairs two at a time until they both were standing outside the flat door. Ron watched as Percy squared his shoulders and knocked.

They waited for a few moments before Percy knocked again. When still nothing happened, Ron pushed his brother aside.

"Oi!" he banged on the door. "Open up!"

"Go away," came the reply.

Ron looked at Percy, as if trying to show him this was all for nothing.

But the determination growing inside Percy seemed to ignite even brighter, and Ron watched as Percy took his place pounding on the door. "George, you open up right now! I won't leave until I see you!"

There was a shuffle inside the flat, and Percy stepped back from the door. But Ron's eyes were trained on the back of Percy's head.

Who was this person standing in front of him and what had he done with the rule-abiding, curly-haired git he grew up with?

He'd never seen Percy so serious about anything other than schoolwork or his job. The sound of the lock clicking brought Ron's attention to the opening door, all thoughts of Percy's determination fading.

Ron had to stop himself from wincing as the room opened to reveal George.

Why'd they have to look so damn much alike?

George barely had the door open, but from what Ron could see, he looked terrible. His hair was unwashed and askew, some of it even crusted against the mottled skin where his ear used to be. His eyes looked like two sunken blue pebbles nestled into the shores of the Black Lake. He had a very patchy beard growing in, and he definitely had not changed out of his pyjamas for a few days judging by the stains on his shirt.

"I'm not coming," he said.

"You don't have to come," Percy answered, "but you're going to talk to us."

"Like hell." George began to shut the door, but Percy stuffed his foot in the way.

"You will," he was attempting to wiggle his way inside now, "or I'll break these hinges myself!"

If he didn't feel like the entirety of his world was collapsing, Ron would have laughed at the sight of Percy flailing his limbs about as he tried to out-muscle George's hold on the door. But it was too much seeing George. Ron had had no idea it would be like this, and every angry thought he had about George from before disappeared upon seeing him again.

"You're gonna hurt yourself," George muttered, finally releasing his hold of the door. It swung open, banging off the opposite wall and nearly swinging shut again. Percy stopped it with his hands and pushed it aside, revealing the shambles of what used to be George's flat.

Furniture was broken and scattered about the room. Sticky bottles of every odd potion or drink appeared to have been smashed and lain to rest along the base of every wall, accounting for the stale stench of firewhiskey wafting into Ron's face. Clothes draped over overturned chairs, and pillow feathers littered the floor.

"It was mostly Death Eaters," George explained. He was walking toward a single upright chair by a half-standing table. Ron noticed one of its four legs had been snapped. "They raided the shop, too. Must've been when we were in hiding." He sat down in the chair. "I've added my own touches."

Percy had already entered the room, but Ron was still processing.

"Ginny said she talked to you."

"Never let her in."

From his spot by the door, Ron could see the sun trying to peek through the mangled curtains. Mum had sewn them as a housewarming present, almost two years before.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Ron asked, finally entering the room. Inside, he felt the hair on his arms stand straight, his body prickling with electricity. He felt the dark magic that had been in the room, still haunting the nooks and crannies like a wanton spirit. Beneath his shirt, his heart raced like a bloody Sneakoscope, and everything in him said to run.

But the darkness was gone. The only thing left in its wake was George's grief, and for whatever reason, that also had Ron ready to flee.

"Don't!"

Ron's head snapped to George, who, instead, was looking at Percy. The latter Weasley was gathering clothes off the floor, his arms already filled with fabric.

"These need to be washed, George."

"They need to stay the fuck alone, Perce."

That's when Ron's eyes settled on the clothes in Percy's hands. And it didn't help that his heart was already racing or that an eerie feeling had settled around him the moment he stepped out of the fireplace. But just looking at the unmistakable brown stains on the shirt in Percy's hands was enough to steal the breath right out of his lungs.

"Ron?" Percy was already beside him.

Try as he might to calm the burning panic in his brain, Ron couldn't stop the images of that night from staining his vision.

He'd been doing so well.

Walls were crashing, people screamed. Somewhere, far away, he could hear the hint of laughter, could still see the hint of a smile lost on his brother's face. As if through a funnel, Ron could hear the voices of his brothers as he collapsed to his knees, arms shaking, lungs desperate for air.

"What's wrong?"

"He's been having flashbacks."

"Flashbacks?"

"Stay back, he's got his wand."

"So? He needs help!"

"George, I said stay back!"

Ron shut his eyes tight, willing their voices to go away. There was a rushing sound in his ears, like an ocean battering the shores during a thunderstorm. His muscles tensed. And then… his heart started to slow. Ron felt arms encircle him, and a calm voice whispering in his ear.

"You're safe. Breathe in. You're with family. Breathe out. I've got you."

He did as he was told. The voice continued to speak calming words into his ear, and when things started to feel normal again, Ron looked up.

Percy smiled sheepishly, his arms still around Ron's shoulders. "I saw Hermione do the same last time." His voice was soft. "It works, yeah? The breathing?"

"Yeah," Ron said hoarsely. His whole face was heating up with embarrassment. Gods, it was bad enough breaking down in front of Hermione. But Percy's eyes seemed so kind, and this was the first time in a very, very long time he'd hugged his brother. Ron had to choke back a sob.

Percy seemed to understand, because he slowly released Ron, instead offering a hand to pull him to his feet.

"Here's your wand." Percy held out his hand. Ron didn't even remember handing it to him, but he took it and pocketed it."

"Fuck."

They both turned to look at George, who was furiously wiping at his eyes.

"Does this happen a lot?" he whispered.

Ron rubbed at the back of his neck. "Only once in a while," he grimaced. He really didn't like talking about it.

"It's usually triggered by something. Loud noises, stressful situations. A lot of people are struggling with it right now," Percy added, and Ron felt grateful to him for helping explain. For normalizing the reactions his body kept having when the stress and fear set in.

George cursed again. "Is this because of me?"

"What?"

"Merlin, no."

"Why would you think that?"

"George—" Ron found he and Percy were both trying to reason with him, but George was pulling away, stepping further and further into the flat. He started to cover his face with his hands.

Percy looked to Ron, his hand subtly pointing to a mirror on George's wall. It had been shattered, the reflective glass scattered on the floor like pieces of confetti. Ron looked across the room to another spot where he knew a mirror should be, but it had been covered with a t-shirt.

Something clicked.

It made sense now, the way George was pulling away from everyone. He was afraid his presence, the very features of his face, would hurt them. As exhausted as Ron felt after what had just happened to him, there was a kick of adrenaline building again. George needed him.

"George, you're your own person," Ron said.

"You're not… him," Percy added.

That wasn't the right thing to say, Ron thought as George whirled around, his face twisted into an ugly scowl.

"I'm a walking reminder he existed!" George screamed. His eyes were filled with so much pain, it hurt to look at him. "How can anyone look at me and not see Fred?"

Three weeks had passed, two since the funeral, and not one single person at home had said his name. But there it was, hanging in the air like a broken spell with nowhere to go. And yet, for as painful as it was to hear his name, it didn't hurt nearly as bad as seeing George's anguish.

"I can't even look in the mirror," George said weakly, his gaze dropping to the floor.

Whenever it got to be too much, Ron knew he had Hermione and Harry, his parents, dinners at the Burrow. Even Percy, it appeared. Ron had his place in his family. But for George, part of his place was Fred. And now, without him, he couldn't face any of them.

Ron took a few steps closer to his brother until he was just within arms' reach.

"No one is thinking that," Ron said. "Mum wants to bloody kick down your door and drag you home by your good ear, but everyone else just wants to give you time. But, if this is what you're doing," he gestured to the mess around them, "I reckon Mum's right, and you should come home and be with us. Where you're wanted."

George wiped at his nose. "I just—can't."

They stood there silently, all the tension deflating as both Ron and George tried avoiding each other's gaze.

Then, behind him, Ron heard Percy's voice, quiet. Barely audible, really.

"It should have been me."

Now Ron shared a look with George. They spun to face their older brother still standing in the open doorway, a pensive look on his face.

"Don't you see it?" Percy smiled sadly, a few tears leaking from his eyes. "Ginny's always in her room crying. Ron, you're experiencing severe episodes of panic. Mum's lost a lot of weight. George, you're clearly not alright.

"I was there. I was right there. It should have been me. Everything would be closer to normal if our roles were reversed. It wasn't like I was around before, right? It would just be so much easier for everyone to move on if had been—"

"You shut the hell up." George had already passed by Ron. "Right now."

George enveloped Percy in his arms. The latter broke down immediately, his sobs tearing at Ron's own heart. George nodded, and Ron threw himself into the mix, the three of them crying and hugging each other. Part of Ron knew this was not something any of them would have ever thought to do, yet another part felt so secure in his brothers' arms. Like this was everything they'd been waiting for weeks, their collective held breath finally escaping.

And it was working, just a little.

About an hour later, after the trio had Reparo'd what they could and were lounging out on George's living room furniture, Ron said what he'd been thinking for a while.

"We're going to reopen the shop."

George scoffed. "Sorry, mate. That ship sailed three weeks ago."

"I'm serious." He sat up. "This world needs a little laughter right now. I reckon you're the person for the job."

George smirked. Gesturing to his stained pyjama pants, he said, "Yes, I'm the epitome of laughs and sunshine."

"I think it's a great idea," Percy chimed in. Ever since they entered the flat, Ron's appreciation for Percy had been growing and growing, and right now, Ron could've kissed him for supporting his ideas. "This is Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, is it not? And we're all Weasleys, are we not?"

George still didn't look convinced.

"What if," Ron said, "we start by just, cleaning up? You said the Death Eaters searched the shop?"

George nodded.

"So let's clean up their mess. Perce and I can come by and do a bit each day."

"Yes!" Percy exclaimed, practically jumping from his seat on the couch. "Yes, that's an excellent idea. We do a little bit each day. And after a while, it'll be set and ready to go."

George sank back in his chair. "I'll consider it," he started. "But, Ron, you have to talk to someone."

That brought the mood down. Ron sighed. His embarrassment had left him long ago, but the panic episode was still fresh in his mind. "I know," he conceited. "Hermione says the same thing."

"That's another thing!" Percy exclaimed again, causing both Ron and George to jump. "You also need to tell Hermione you love her."

"What!"

"You heard me."

"You're supposed to be on my side," Ron said, trying to hide the smile pulling at his lips.

"I am." And suddenly his brother, who had been the least likely to ever pull a prank or even start a row, threw a pillow into his face, and laughed as the feathers flew everywhere. Ron tugged the soft fabric off his face and tossed it aside.

"You should see the two of them," Percy said to George. "Holding hands under the table as if no one's watching and sneaking off at night by themselves."

Ron pulled a feather out of his hair, wishing his face would cool down or his brother would shut up. This felt even more personal than having a breakdown in front of them, and Ron was ready to tell them off for it. But then he caught the look on George's face—he wasn't smiling exactly, but there was amusement building in his eyes, and for that, Ron let the retort die before he could say it.

"It's about time," George said. "At Hogwarts, they were always touching. Brushing back each other's hair, grabbing each other's wrists, sitting so close to look at the same books or whatever it was."

"It's sweet," Percy smiled.

"It's sickening," George said. But he was smirking now.

"Oi! We're done talking about that now." Neither brother seemed to hear him.

"Five galleons he doesn't tell her till her birthday," George said instead.

Percy looked to Ron. "When's that?"

"...September."

Percy turned back to George. "Ten galleons it's by July."

Ron rolled his eyes, choosing to ignore them both as they shook hands. "Fine. If I talk to someone about the flashbacks, George, will you let us clean the shop?"

George's smirk faded. He nodded, his eyes also dropping back to the floor.

"And you'll wash your clothes?" Percy said. "George, throw that bloodied shirt away."

"I will." He wiped at his nose. "It's just hard, like if I throw away the clothes I was wearing that day, I'm throwing him away, too."

"We get that," Percy said. "More than I think you know."

After that, they settled into a comfortable silence, one that reminded Ron of the recent dinners at the Burrow. It felt warm, like the room was glowing, and for an instant it really did feel like it would get better sooner than they expected.

"One more thing," George finally continued. He looked so serious, even with his hair still a mess and his dirty face streaked with dried tears. Ron felt his heart begin to quicken again, so he concentrated on his breathing. George didn't have to say it, he knew what was coming. "You both were there when it—happened."

Ron nodded. Beside him, Percy did the same.

"Was it—quick?"

"I couldn't believe it had happened at all," Percy said quietly. "It was that quick."

Ron breathed in and out. He was with his family. He was safe. Across from him, George was nodding. "Okay. That's—okay."

Then he stood. "I reckon you two should head back before everyone shows up. I'm still not coming tonight."

Which, Ron thought as he also stood up, he should have expected. They'd made some progress today, at least, and just knowing they'd be back the next day to start cleaning everything up was enough.

Together, Ron and Percy exited the flat. George stood on the other side of the threshold, the door back in his hands, blocking their view of the mess inside.

"Tell Ginny I'll try to come next week," he said as a way of goodbye. Ron nodded, knowing a promise like that wouldn't stop their sister from coming back tomorrow and asking George to dinner anyways, but it was something.

Percy stuck out his hand, and George shook it. Then he closed the door.

"Ready?" Percy turned to Ron. And for the first time since Percy had stepped back into their lives, Ron was overcome with just how much he'd missed him. All those months of their mum crying over his departure, all those years of being iced out, all the letters Percy sent with foul propaganda laced in his words. It was nothing now. Percy came back, he was whole, and if he hadn't said to go talk to George… Ron didn't want to think about how long it would have taken to get their brother back.

"Oi!" George called from behind the door. Ron and Percy both turned.

"I just want you to know..." There was a long pause, then, "I couldn't imagine life without either of you," George's voice said. "So, yeah."

Ron smiled and slung his arm over Percy's shoulders. "Same for me."

"I mean, obviously," Percy added.

"Let's go," Ron said. And he led the way back home, where he knew things were going to be alright.