Cicatrices- Marks That Remain

George Weasley

Happy Sunday I am so sorry it's been so long!!! I've been dealing with a lot between finishing my bachelor's, starting my master's, and moving homes, and the chaos is still not over!! But I have been writing absolutely every opportunity that I can!

Warning in this chapter for discussions of poor mental health, institutions, murder, and suicide

Please let me know what y'all think! And, as always...Enjoy!

George looked... different than Harry thought.

Harry wasn't sure what he was expecting, really. His hair was still as red as any Weasley's, he was still just as tall as he always was, and he was still missing an ear.

But he was still... different.

"Hi."

"Hi, Harry."

He didn't really look alive.

"You look better today," said Ginny as she gestured for Harry to sit. Harry was surprised that it sounded as though Ginny really meant it. She gave a terse smile. "I'll be out in the cafeteria. You two take however long you need."

Ginny left. The door closed behind her with a click. Harry and George were sitting across from each other in a common area that was empty save for a nurse in a far corner, trying to look like he wasn't paying attention to them.

He hadn't seen George since Christmas, and barely even then. The most he'd spoken to George was to defend Draco's presence. And before that...

Harry barely remembered the last time he'd spoken to George at all.

"How, er... how are you?" Harry hated not knowing what to say, or how to behave. There was a time not long ago when this wasn't true. Before the Battle of Hogwarts. Before....

"I'm alright as I can be," George shrugged. "You?"

"I'm.... same," Harry responded, feeling an unidentifiable, horrible sensation threatening to swallow him up from within.

"Listen, George, I'm so sorry-"

"I don't entirely blame you for thinking it was me."

"What?"

Harry didn't dare say anything else. He simply sat, stunned, unsure what to say or how to say it. He hadn't been expecting George to say that, and by the looks of it, he was getting ready to say more.

"Just... I sort of get it? I mean, it hurt. Bloody Hell, it hurt. I thought... I dunno what I thought. That you'd... know it wasn't me, or something. I've always- I've never.... But... I mean, I did feel like at least most of them deserved what they got. So... I don't entirely blame you."

"George I-"

"It's fine, Harry. I've accepted that.... But- I have a question for you."

"Yes?"

"Why... why haven't you tried.... Talking to me? Visiting? Asking...?"

George's expression crumpled just then, and Harry realised with a punch to his heart that the different he'd noticed in George was a profound lack of happiness, and an overwhelming tide of despair in its place. He looked at the ground, making faces like he was trying to control what he was feeling. Or make sense of it.

"I just...I dunno. We-" George squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, then he opened them again, taking a breath.

"I thought of you as a brother..." He furrowed his brows, forlorn. "Fred and I, both."