Harry steadied George as he stumbled slightly from the side-along apparation, but the contact was quickly shrugged off.
"You okay?" Harry whispered to the Disillusioned twin. The answer was more strained than Harry wanted to hear.
"F-Fine." His voice was shaky, and Harry had no doubt that once they got inside and removed the charm, George would not look as fine as he regularly claimed to be.
Wand still clutched in hand, Harry looked around at the neighborhood. It was quiet, as it normally was during the day. Most people were at work or school, so the chances of being noticed were slim. The Disillusionment Charm was merely a precaution.
Two more pops told him Fred and Bill had arrived.
"Let's go." They moved slowly toward number thirteen, Harry keeping an eye on the street, while Fred or Bill had moved up beside George. He heard George mumble, "I d-don't n-need any h-h-help," and assumed it had been Fred who had attempted to assist him. There was no doubt this would become a regular exchange.
By the time they made it through the door, George's breathing was shallow, though whether it was from the walk or the situation, Harry was unsure. From the more pronounced stutter, Harry assumed it was the stress of being out in the open again.
Sometimes, Harry hated being right.
With the door firmly shut, they removed the charm and found George much paler, appearing clammy in the dim light of the foyer. And though his eyes were closed in his attempt to regulate his breaths, the shaking of his hands told the story of his agitation.
The three men waited silently as George sucked in a deep breath, holding it in his chest for several seconds before releasing it slowly. Then, he opened his eyes, though he still avoided theirs.
"I think I'll lie down for a bit. Which room-?"
"You can take the first room at the landing," Harry replied. It was the lowest bedroom in the house and Harry assumed the stairs would not be easy for George to tackle, but did not voice this. George probably felt weak enough as it was without-.
Fred moved to take his arm and steady him up the stairs, but George smoothly pushed his hand away.
"I'm fine, Fred." He brushed clumsily past his brother and started slowly up the stairs, the click of his cane and the creaking of his tread on the wooden steps marking his progress.
"Do you want a Dreamless-?"
"I said, I'm fine. I just want to lie down."
Click.
Creak.
Click.
Creak.
Click.
Creak.
Click.
Cre-eak.
Click.
George wavered a moment, reaching out his right hand to grasp the banister tightly, his knuckles turning white in the effort to steady himself. Fred shifted as though to head up the stairs to help him, but Bill grasped his shoulder and shook his head. George wanted to do this on his own.
Creak.
The slow progress began again, more slowly than before, as George was finding his own pace to make it. His brothers waited, just in case George changed his mind and asked for help, but the request never came. Just a few steps from the top, Bill's voice rang out.
"Hey, George?" George turned his head, showing he was listening, though not actually looking at them. "It's good to have you back."
"Thanks," he answered, a small smile tugging at his lips that almost made it to his eyes. "It's good to be alive again."
Click.
Creak.
Click.
Creak.
The door opened and closed, and George was out of sight.
The darkness was oppressive, squeezing him from all sides, slowing his movement, as though the very air had thickened, filling his mouth and throat, choking him. He tried to thrash, to push it away, but formless, it pressed harder, holding him down, falling, falling.
No scream.
No breath.
No sound but the low laugh.
Red eyes flashed in the darkness. Glowing. Piercing. Stabbing.
No.
No!
NO!
George's eyes flew open, hands flying forward to ward off the fear, but there was nothing there: only the faded canopy hanging above him. He pulled his hands closer, wrapping his arms around himself, attempting to steady himself. Keeping his eyes wide open, he sucked in deep breaths, concentrating on each exhalation, trying to clear the nightmare from his head.
It wasn't working, and suddenly George didn't want to be alone anymore. He slid off the bed, reaching for the nightstand to steady himself to reach his cane, but missed, dropping to the floor with a loud thumb as soon as his left leg crumpled under his weight.
Damn it!
His leg was killing him, and any attempt to stand was thwarted by the shooting pain. He knocked his head back against the bed, biting his bottom lip in frustration before dropping his head in his hands.
He could hear someone running up the stairs and knew before the door was thrown open that it was Fred.
"What happened?" He was next to him on the floor, but George didn't look up at him.
"My hand slipped and I fell."
"You okay?"
"I'm fine."
"Need help up?"
"No, I just want to sit here a minute." He let his hand drop and looked up, finding that Fred was not hovering as he had supposed, but was sitting on the floor beside him, his back against the bed.
"You okay now?"
Annoyed, George made to answer, but was stopped by Fred's hand.
"And don't say you're fine. You were shaking when I got in here, like something scared the hell out of you. It's okay if you don't want to talk about it, but don't lie to me and say you're fine."
George hesitated in answering this time. He couldn't help it. He'd spent the last few weeks dodging people's questions about himself, trying not to worry them by letting them too close to his pain, that he hadn't realized what it was doing to them- to Fred.
With a deep sigh, George leaned forward, attempting to massage some of the pain out of his lower thigh and knee. Fred watched him, he noticed, out of the corner of his eye, but said nothing, not even offering to help.
"It was a nightmare," George said slowly. "Just a regular nightmare like anyone could have. It just freaked me out a little, and when I tried to come downstairs, I missed the nightstand and fell."
"What was the nightmare?"
"That I don't want to talk about." He was trying all he could to forget it. He most certainly did not want to discuss it. Thankfully, Fred seemed to understand.
"How's your leg?"
"Hurt's like hell."
"Need anything?"
"I'm f-." Fred looked at him now, and the word froze on George's tongue. "A cup of tea," he amended. "Go down and start some tea. I'll be down in a minute."
Fred stared hard at him for a minute, as though trying to gauge whether or not he was being truthful, but finally relented. He pushed himself to his feet and headed to the door, pausing only to roll George's cane toward him with the tip of his foot. Then, he was out the door.
George leaned his head back against the bed once more and stared at the ceiling. Draco had warned him to stop pushing his family away, and now it seemed he was right. He hadn't realized how bad he had let it get. Even when he overheard Ron and Harry's argument in the hallway, he hadn't realized. Not until he saw that look in Fred's eyes- that look that challenged him to lie again about how he was.
He had never seen that look before, but then, before waking up in the hospital all those weeks ago, he had never really lied to Fred before. And since then, it felt like it had been nonstop.
Fred sat at the table in the kitchen, his hands wrapped around a cup of tea. Harry and Bill had left just an hour ago, after making sure everything George would need was in place, leaving Fred alone when he had heard the bang from upstairs. He'd been worried about George, as he had been since hearing he was still alive, but finding him shaking on the floor had been too much. He could sense the annoyance in his twin at his hovering, so he had backed off in the hope that he would open up just a little.
And he did.
Just a little.
It was progress, wasn't it?
Yet, it had been nearly twenty minutes since he had left George, and he had yet to appear in the kitchen as he said he would.
Fred sipped his tea, using the movement as an excuse not to go back upstairs and see what was keeping him. He said he would be down. He had to trust George.
Even if George did not trust him.
This was a completely new experience for Fred. He was used to a dubious nature from others. Afterall, he and George had spent most of their lives pranking others, but for his own twin not to completely trust him- it bothered Fred. And it only bothered him more every time George shrugged off the hand on his shoulder or refused to tell a simple truth, like how he was feeling.
Damn it.
He was on his feet, ready to go back upstairs when he heard it: the distinct pattern of George coming down the stairs with his cane. With a relieved sigh, Fred poured another cup of tea and refilled his own, bringing both back to the table to wait for his brother. His ears followed the trek down each step, then across the foyer until the door to the kitchen swung open and George was suddenly there, sitting across from him, a hot cup of tea in his hands.
They both sipped in silence.
Again.
And again.
And again.
"So, I was thinking I might like to go to the shop."
"Are you sure you're up for that?"
"Not today, but soon. I want to see what you did with it."
"You don't trust me?"
Both of them fell silent again at the question, identical reactions, though for different reasons.
"I do," George said slowly. "I'm just curious. Did you change it at all?"
"Almost everything. We're in the old Potions and Pot Wicks building at the other end Diagon Alley."
"You didn't rebuild?"
Well, there goes idle chitchat.
"Would you have?" Fred couldn't bring himself to look at his brother. "Honestly, George, I didn't even want to reopen at all. I was-." He glanced up at George, unsure whether or not to continue, but his twin nodded for him to. " I was a mess after your funeral. I think the others were afraid for a while to leave me alone. I didn't even want to think about the shop. Chris and Harry finally talked me into reopening. They thought I needed something to do."
George nodded, contemplative.
"And did it give you something to do?"
"I'm not there very much. I hired some employees. When I go home, I usually apparate straight into my flat." A sip of tea. "We haven't released a new product since- well, it was the Man-Eating Mouse Trap."
Again, George nodded. It had been the last release before his attack.
"Well, that gives me something to do," George said cheerily. "I'm sure we can bring the product line up to date within a few months. We can start on ideas, and once I get a wand, we can do some prototypes."
Fred stared at his brother, wondering at the complete turnaround in him since they had been upstairs. Was this new attitude a byproduct of finally getting back to his life? Was he determined to be himself again? Or would this prove to be just another façade?
Fred grinned at his brother, but in the back of his mind he dreaded the disappointment of this short-lived return to normalcy.
AN: Just wanted to let everyone know that work is becoming a little hectic, and I haven't had much time to write. I AM still working on this, even if the updates are coming a little sporadically. I've had this story in my head since right after book 6 came out, and I've been working on it too long not to finish it, so fear not if I go a few weeks without updating! It will be completed!