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trigger warning:
the second half of this chapter
includes discussions of trauma,
death, depression, and anxiety
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December 1999

A few days after Bill's birthday, Eloise weaved her way through a busy and snowy Diagon Alley. Her winter boots left behind prints in the freshly fallen snow tracking her path all the way from the Ministry to the Leaky Cauldron.

She easily could have just apparated to Diagon Alley, but the walk wasn't too far and Eloise loved the cold weather, especially the snow. Even on days where the harsh wind whipped her skin and turned her nose a bright shade of pink, it never bothered her. If anything it was nice to finally get out of the office.

The witch had been hard at work for days, putting in extra hours and skipping lunch in order to get the mind healers from America's request to work in St. Mungo's approved. Her motives were of course selfish in a way, but also quite selfless at the same time. She was doing it all for George.

Of course all the other countless witches in wizards who needed help would benefit from the mind healers' presence in the hospital, but Eloise only really cared about him. Although on her own she had very little impact on the entire situation, Audrey still seemed to take notice of her hard work.

Thinking all of Eloise's extra work she had been putting into the project was purely caused by her impressive work ethic, the typically stern brunette thanked Eloise for the overtime she had been putting in at the office and encouraged her to take the rest of the afternoon off.

At first she wanted to object, knowing how close they were to finalizing everything. But she honestly did need the break, she'd have to trust her team would be able to get everything done without her. So, at around 2:30 that afternoon, a jingle rang throughout Flourish & Blotts as the blonde stepped inside.

Maxwell was standing behind the counter, helping ring up an elderly witch who was purchasing several books on growing and raising Fanged Geraniums. With a smile, he wished the older woman a nice day before his eyes fell on Eloise. Looking at his watch he realized the day truly hadn't flown by, she was merely early - more than two hours early at that.

"Eager, are we?" he teased as she approached the counter.

"My boss let me leave early today." she smiled, leaning her elbows on the wood between them as she rested her chin in her hands.

"I may be able to convince mine to do the same, wait here."

He quickly turned over his shoulder, his dark teal robe billowing behind him as he disappeared into the shelves behind the counter.

As Eloise waited for him to return, she browsed a stack of newly delivered books that had yet to be sorted on their appropriate shelves. Her eyes immediately fell on a book titled 'Men Who Love Dragons Too Much' and she let out a chuckle, immediately thinking of Charlie. Part of her wanted to get it for his birthday, but she was almost certain he'd most likely read that particular book before. Perhaps it would make for an entertaining gag gift though, she'd have to keep it in mind.

"Interested in dragons?" a familiar voice asked.

When Eloise looked up, Maxwell was already changed out of his Flourish & Blotts uniform, instead wearing a deep emerald green peacoat.

"I have a friend who used to work with dragons, and another who still does." she explained.

"Oh really? I couldn't even imagine. I'm quite content working within these brick walls selling books about creatures I'll never see and adventures I'll never take." he laughed.

Eloise chuckled, realizing she too was never one to seek out adventure, "I think the most spontaneous thing I've ever done is move here from France."

"Hey, don't sell yourself short, that's actually quite brave. Leaving home can be pretty daunting, that's why I've lived in London my entire life. Speaking of, there's a lovely cafe a few blocks away if you're ready."

"Sure." she smiled.

Letting him lead the way, Eloise walked close beside Maxwell as they walked down Diagon Alley, through the Leaky Cauldron, and out into Muggle London.

For someone who had lived in England for a year and a half, Eloise had done very little exploring of the area. Even on the days she'd decided to walk from the Ministry to Diagon Alley, she took the same route every single time. The only time she had diverged from the beaten path was the night she and George went for fish and chips on Valentine's Day, which felt like ages ago now.

But walking side by side with Maxwell felt much more magical, despite the distinct lack of magic the ordinary streets of the city held. Every building being adorned with multicolored lights in preparation for Christmas as snow gently fell around them must have been the cause of the bright and cheerful feeling inside her heart.

The two of them soon approached a quaint little cafe, just a short distance from the Leaky Cauldron called 'The Busy Bean'.

As they stepped inside, Eloise took in her surroundings. The cafe looked quite modern compared to the shops on Diagon Alley, having sleek black and white furnishings with yellow accents. Approaching the counter, Eloise noticed the subtle designs etched into the counter top and on the tiles below them shaped like honeycomb as well as the golden bumble bee shaped earrings the barista was wearing. The entire cafe seemed to be themed around bees, but not in an overbearing or cheesy way, it was actually quite stylish.

To no surprise their specialty drink was the honey latte, which of course Eloise ordered. Once Maxwell ordered his regular drink which the barista seemed to have memorized, the two of them found a quiet table in the corner of the cafe.

"It's nice to spend time with you outside of the shop." he said, pulling out the chair for Eloise before making his way to sit across from her.

"I agree, but I won't complain about having a reason to go book shopping. I actually worked in a bookstore before moving here." she replied, unwrapping the scarf from her neck.

"You did? Did you enjoy it?"

"I did," she nodded, "But it wasn't my dream job."

"It's certainly not the Ministry," he replied with a smirk, "What is it you do there?"

"I work in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, it's a lot of paperwork and not nearly as much travel as I had hoped." she laughed.

Eloise really did love her job, most days at least, and she knew she'd have to climb the ranks in order to be given bigger assignments that would allow her to travel. But Audrey did seem to be taking a liking to her recently, (whether that was due to her potentially romantic involvement with Percy putting her in a better mood was still up for debate) but Eloise hoped she wouldn't have to wait much longer for an exciting opportunity to arise.

The barista came over and dropped off their drinks as Maxwell thanked her with a polite smile. Without waiting for it to cool, Eloise took a careful sip of her latte letting the sweet beverage run down her throat and warm her entire body. Maybe it was the ambience of the cafe, or it truly was the quality of the coffee, but Eloise was convinced this was the best latte she'd ever had in her life. Magic couldn't even make it better.

"How did you find this place?" she asked as she set down her bright yellow mug.

"Oh, I live just up the road. I usually stop in before going to work."

"I feel like I've been missing out, I usually go to Night Owls."

"Night Owls is alright, but nothing beats this place."

"I wish I'd explored more of London. I haven't really ventured beyond Diagon Alley since I moved here."

"I'll gladly be your tour guide. I grew up here, so I know these streets like the back of my hand."

"That would be lovely." she smiled.

The two of them sat together comfortably enjoying their drinks in silence as they watched people pass by the window, probably doing their Christmas shopping or heading home from work.

"So," Maxwell started, "Since you're from France, I assume you attended Beauxbatons."

"I did." she nodded.

"Were you in school during the Triwizard Tournament?" he asked.

"I was, but I was too young to attend."

"Too young? Merlin, how old are you?" he laughed.

"I'm twenty one." she answered tentatively, wondering if he truly was that much older than her.

"Oh that's not too bad." he laughed, "I'm twenty three, I'd just graduated from Hogwarts the year before the tournament. Not that I would have entered to begin with, but it would have been exciting to watch I suppose."

Twenty-three. That meant he was in the same year as Percy. Of course she couldn't help but wonder if he was familiar with any of the Weasleys. Not that she was intending to ask at all, the last thing she wanted was for George to come up in the middle of their outing.

"What house were you in?" she asked, thinking that was subtle enough of a question to gauge whether or not it was likely he'd crossed paths with any particular gingers.

"Ravenclaw, I thought it was obvious. You know, the book store and all. I'm a bit of a stereotype." he smirked.

"My best friend said Ravenclaw was her favorite house when she visited for the tournament."

"Then she has very good taste." he winked as he picked up his mug to take a sip of his tea.

The two of them spent the rest of their afternoon chatting away about silly little things. Making small talk may have felt forced if it were with anyone other than Maxwell Holmes, but they got along so well. He seemed almost like the exact same person as her - introverted, kind, cautious, and hardworking.

He was truly her perfect match on paper.

But the heartbreaking truth was that Eloise's heart belonged to someone else, someone much different than her. Someone chaotic, a little hotheaded, much more confident than her, but someone with a lot of baggage - someone whose heart was guarded.

Maybe those feelings would fade over time. Hopefully they would. Her feelings for George were like a whirlwind that whisked her away from the first moment she laid eyes on him. She had become so caught up in him that she had started to lose herself. In losing herself, she had begun to lose her happiness.

Having feelings for George was an unhealthy habit she needed to kick.

For more than a year she had been putting him first, even now as she worked overtime to get the mind healers into St. Mungo's, it was all for George. But all the while, she never seemed to be his top priority - through no fault of his own, truly. The damage done by the war caused George to self-medicate and avoid letting anyone even come close to filling the void in his heart that Fred had left behind. In his mind he would always be better off alone.

As Eloise gazed at the man across from her, she realized she could see herself with someone like him. But she wasn't in a rush. The last time she rushed to replace George it ended rather quickly, and she was lucky to still consider Dhani one of her friends to be quite honest. No, she'd take her time with Maxwell. Hopefully the equally as cautious man would agree to take things slow.

"I'm glad you decided to come in and buy that book for your friend a few weeks ago." Maxwell said as he finished his tea.

A soft smile grew on Eloise's face. Everything with Maxwell felt so easy, it almost came as a relief as everything with George had felt so incredibly tense over the last several months. This is what she needed right now, something calm and safe.

"Me too." she replied.

-

About a week and a half after Eloise had first told George about the American mind healers, he found himself sitting in a white room with old dark green chairs that were probably the most uncomfortable thing he'd ever sat in and smelled awfully of moth balls.

Evidently, those who were involved in the Battle of Hogwarts had received priority, at least that's what the letter George received late last week said. Part of him felt guilty, knowing there may be someone struggling just has much as he was for a vastly different reason that would have to wait to be seen.

As he waited to be called back, there was only one other person sitting with him in the waiting room, someone who looked a few years younger than George. If he had to guess, he assumed they were probably in Ginny's year in school, one of the many students who were underage but still fought regardless of it being forbidden.

In hindsight, the idea of children fighting in a war between adults seemed ridiculous. Being twenty at the time of the Battle of Hogwarts was different, but he was seventeen when Dumbledore's Army first started. Hell, he and Fred were the oldest students in the group. It sent a shiver down his spine to think back on how young Ginny and Ron were when they fought in the Battle of the Ministry, let alone Harry being eleven when he had to face a possessed Professor Quirrell or how he witnessed Cedric's murder when he was fourteen.

George felt foolish. If anyone needed to be here it was Harry, or even Ron, Ginny, or Hermione. Not him. All of his trauma came from losing Fred, but he hadn't put his life on the line nearly as often as his younger siblings had.

Sure the scar on the left side of his head where his ear once was was a constant reminder of the risks he took for what he believed in, but realizing how much more the others had risked made him feel weak. Why couldn't he just move on? Especially when everyone else in his life seemed to have it all together. Why was he still such a mess?

After about fifteen minutes of staring at a blank white wall getting lost in his thoughts, a door just to his right finally opened.

"Mr. Weasley?" a witch who appeared to be in her mid-forties with a thick New York accent called out.

George rose to his feet, staring at the ground as he stepped through the doorway.

"Good morning." she greeted as she stepped in front of him, leading him down the hallway.

"Morning." he replied flatly.

After turning a corner, the witch lead George into a dimly lit room with emerald green wallpaper that looked decades old. Eloise said the entire process had been moving pretty fast, and it seemed that the hospital saw no need to renovate before allowing the healers to start working.

Once she had closed the door, the witch gestured to a old armchair in the corner as she sat at a desk on the opposite side of the cozy room. She grabbed a thick notepad and a quill before spinning around in her seat to face him.

"Okay, Mr. Weasley. My name is Healer Hastings, but you can call me Suzan. As you know, this entire cognitive healing situation is all quite new, so I'll tell you a bit about myself if that's alright."

"George." he muttered.

The healer's brows furrowed slightly.

"Don't call me Mr. Weasley, call me George. Please." he clarified

After jotting down a brief note, probably something about George's demeanor, she brought her eyes back up to him, "Okay, George. Are you ready to get to know each other?"

Rather than answering, he just gave her a slight shrug. To be honest, George saw very little value in this whole appointment. Unless the witch sitting across from him could somehow obliviate every traumatic memory he had of losing Fred, then maybe he'd consider it success. But he found that doubtful.

The witch recounted how she had attended Ilvermorny as a child before deciding to attend a muggle university in New York City. Being a muggle-born witch, which she oddly referred to as 'no-maj', she decided to essentially leave the Wizarding world behind as an adult to study psychology instead. She had been working for fifteen years as a muggle psychiatrist before things in England seemed to be reaching a critical point with the war.

Working with several muggle war veterans and helping them cope with their PTSD, she realized that she could possibly use her knowledge to help those of magical abilities. Just because physical ailments could be fixed with simple spells and potions didn't mean that mental health could be ignored.

It was a long shot, but she brought up the idea of experimenting with cognitive magic with the main Wizarding hospital in Massachusetts at the end of 1996. Though they were quite receptive to the idea, it was quite slow going at first. There simply weren't many witches and wizards who had decided to join the muggle world in order to study psychology. But after a few years, a core team of healers was formed under the direction of Suzan Hastings herself.

The end goal for her was always to bring this team of healers to the United Kingdom where Voldemort's reign of terror left the most lasting impact. With the help of the Ministry of Magic, they were finally able to help those who were directly involved in the Second Wizarding War.

That brings everything back to George. A man who had seen unimaginable things and had lost far too much, all before the age of twenty one.

It certainly was all a lot for him to take in, but knowing the woman before him had some sort of experience and passion for helping others made him feel slightly better. There was no reason to think they'd bring in anyone who had no idea what they were doing, but the idea of someone who had studied both magic as well as muggle psychology honestly seemed a bit far fetched to him. Despite his initial doubts, clearly those people did exist after all.

"Now that you know about me, I'd like to get to know you a bit. Does that sound alright?" Suzan asked.

"Sure." George responded, crossing his arms over his chest.

Suzan seemed to take notice of his body language as she quickly scratched down a note with her green quill before bringing her eyes back up to George.

"So, tell me a bit about you."

George's face twisted into a frown, increasingly feeling as though this was a waste of time. He thought she'd be asking him questions, not making him talk vaguely about himself. He didn't even know where to start. Should he start right off the bat with the battle, or was he supposed to go all the way back to his childhood?

"Why don't you start by telling me what you do for work?" she suggested after his lengthy hesitation.

"I own a joke shop on Diagon Alley."

"That sounds interesting, do you enjoy your work?"

"I did."

With that response, Suzan picked up her quill yet again, quickly scratching down another note. Each time he saw her write something down, he felt himself feel more and more frustrated. All of her notes made him feel as if he was some sort of experiment she was observing rather than a human being.

"Is there a specific reason you've lost interest in your work?"

"I used to work there with my brother before he died." George muttered bluntly, keeping an eye on her hands expecting her to take yet another note but instead she kept her eyes intently on his face.

"I understand you fought in the Battle of Hogwarts, is this when you lost your brother?"

"Yeah."

Suzan gave him a brief nod, "Have you ever talked to anyone about what happened that night?"

George shook his head with a shrug, "My whole family was there. We all experienced it."

"Everyone's experience of the events is a little different." she stated matter-of-factly, "If it's not too difficult, could you take me through that night? We can stop whenever you like. Don't feel like you need to talk about anything you're not ready to discuss, we have plenty of time to work through all of it in our sessions." she said, setting aside her quill and notepad to give him her undivided attention.

George uncrossed his arms, releasing the tension he'd been holding in his shoulders that was beginning to ache. The events of that night in May of 1998 had been locked away far in the recesses of George's memories. Unpacking them all was a huge risk, but he'd come to learn that trying to close them away wasn't making him any better. His trauma was holding him back from ever being happy again.

"There wasn't really a question of going back to fight, it was just a matter of when." he started, "Freddie and I were together at the beginning of the night, but we knew the secret passages of the castle better than anyone else. Those areas needed to be defended, so we split up-" George trailed off as he felt a lump forming in his throat.

"Take your time." Suzan said softly.

George nodded, "I blame myself a lot about letting him go. Sometimes I wish I could trade places and he'd be here instead of me. I can't even look at myself in the damn mirror anymore."

"Survivor's guilt is a very common response to this sort of situation. What happened wasn't your fault, you're not a bad person for following orders, you both were clearly very capable wizards to be trusted to defend the castle. There was no way to predict what would happen to your brother."

George shook his head, feeling silly for what he was about to say, "I mean, it's just that I literally can't look at myself. He was my twin. When I look at my reflection, I see him and I start to panic."

"I see." she nodded, "The bond between twins is incredibly strong. If you're interested, I can give you suggestions on how you could potentially be able to move past that road block."

George highly doubted whatever she was going to suggest would work, but he had the feeling she wouldn't react well to him saying no.

"Sure."

"I would consider trying to look at yourself for a few seconds every other day to start to get used to it. When you do, look at all of your features remind yourself of the things you shared, but also the features that set you apart. I believe once you become more used to your appearance you'll begin to see yourself rather than him, though I would advice you have someone you trust with you to keep you grounded in case you do feel yourself begin to panic."

George didn't respond to this, he merely nodded. Somehow that felt impossible, they were identical twins. Their own mother got them confused. It didn't seem possible for him to be able to look at himself without seeing Fred, and certainly not without it causing some sort of panic attack.

"Do you suffer from anxiety often?" Suzan asked.

"Some days are better than others."

"Other than your reflection, are there specific triggers?"

George shrugged, "It's always something different. If I see his handwriting on something, or if someone says something similar to him, or if anyone talks about the battle."

Suzan nodded, picking up her notes again to write something else. George wanted nothing more than to know exactly what she was writing about him. Probably that he was an utter mess. Perhaps that he was beyond help. Either way, he quickly decided he hated that notepad, no matter what words it contained.

"Are you sleeping well?" she asked after a moment, causing George to bring his eyes back up to her.

George laughed darkly, "Not at all."

Giving him an understanding nod, Suzan swiveled around in her desk chair, reaching for another note pad. Though this one was slightly different than what she had been keeping her notes on. It was much smaller, the paper almost looked translucent and it only seemed to have a few pages inside it.

Opening the notepad to the first page, she turned back around to face George, "If you don't mind, could you elaborate? Are you unable to fall sleep, are you being woken up by nightmares?"

"It's different every time. Some nights I can't fall asleep until three in the morning, other nights I sleep through the night perfectly, others I wake up in a sweat because I just see Fred laying on the concrete floor. Nothing else happens in the dream, it's like I'm just staring at his dead body until I wake up."

"If you like, I could prescribe you a Sleeping Draught. Or, if you don't want something that strong, a potion for Dreamless Sleep is much less potent, but may be just as helpful."

"Yeah, alright."

George didn't have the energy to object to anything she suggested. If agreeing to everything she said helped move the appointment along, he'd do it happily.

He watched as she quickly scrawled the name of the potion on the notepad, furrowing his brows as the ink disappeared into the page immediately. Within seconds, a small pewter box on her desk that he hadn't noticed until this moment glowed slightly before she turned around and unlatched it, pulling a small vial of purple liquid from it. Handing the flask to George, he turned it in his hands reading the label of the potion. She'd opted to give him the Draught of Dreamless Sleep.

Honestly, George had deliberately avoided using any sort of sleeping potion. As much as he craved a night of peaceful sleep, he didn't want to miss out on the chance of having a good dream about Fred. It hadn't happened yet, but he didn't want to close the door on that chance.

Maybe it would be for the best for him to take it though. If this therapy did somehow work maybe he wouldn't need the potion anymore and maybe his memories of Fred would be happy again, rather than leaving him feeling depressed and hopeless.

"Before we end our session, I'd like to ask about your support system." she said.

"Support system?"

"Who do you lean on when things get difficult? It's important to have a core group of individuals you trust."

George shrugged, "I have a few friends and my family."

"Are you open with them?" she raised an eyebrow.

"Not always." he answered honestly.

"Would you say you tend to distance yourself when things become overwhelming?"

He nodded without hesitation. Glancing at the clock, Suzan wrote down one more note before closing her notepad and setting her quill aside.

"I'd encourage you to reach out to anyone you may have been distancing yourself from. After what you have been through it's incredibly important to remember that keeping your loved ones close is essential. No one can handle trauma on their own, and it isn't a sign of weakness to ask for help. It's truly a sign of strength. Those that love you will be more than willing to support you."

The reason he'd closed himself off so much was because he felt like a burden any time he began to panic in inopportune situations or on the days he spent his entire day in his room wallowing in his depression. None of his friends or family ever deliberately did anything to make him feel that way, but he still felt it nonetheless.

Once she realized George had nothing else to say, she decided to close out their appointment, "We can discuss this more during our next session, do Friday mornings work well for you?"

"Sure, that's fine." he responded without really listening to her.

George's mind was elsewhere. There were several people he had pushed away over the last year and a half, but for some reason there was one in particular that came to mind in this moment.

Anger and resentment had contributed to him shutting this person out. It honestly felt warranted. But he knew holding onto that bitterness in his heart forever would hold him back from fully healing. The only problem was he just didn't know how everyone else would react if he decided to reach out to them and really let them back into his life.

It would be part of his healing process, so that couldn't possibly be a bad thing, right?