Ron came around five days later, and George had not moved since the day he royally fucked everything up. At first, he had assumed to pounding was nothing more than the pounding in his head, but when it persisted, getting consistently matter he managed to inform the visitor the door was open.

Ron came in grinning, his mouth open, prepared to share whatever news he had brought with him. That was all forgotten when he saw George sprawled out on the bed.

"George are you alright?" he asked, but George only rolled away, sighing loudly. "George, I'm sorry for what I said about Fred, I didn't mean it, I was angry. I was just mad about Malfoy, but you must have your reasons. Should I go find Hannah? Does she-."

"She's gone."

"What? Where?"

"I fucked up, and now she's gone." George sat up and raked his fingers through his hair as a fresh batch of tears collected in eyes, streaming down his cheeks as he stared at his younger brother. Ron was staring back at him, shock and discomfort written all over his face. The last time he had seen George cry was the day Fred died, and now he was broken all over again. Frantically, he tried to think of what Hermione would do, and he cursed himself for not bringing her along.

She would make tea. That's what she did whenever Harry came over, fear and loss clouding his eyes. And now Ron would do the same for George. He glanced towards the destroyed kitchen he hadn't noticed before.

Everything was a mess. It matched George perfectly.

Quickly, he pulled out his wand and flicked it the way Hermione had taught him the first time an explosion had gone off in the storm, it was the one spell he felt like he had mastered.

The table righted itself and the cupboard returned to the wall. Plates repaired themselves and cutlery returned to its drawer. Through the doorway he could see a shelf reinstall itself in the bathroom and the shards of mirror reunite once more. Holes disappeared from the walls and chair legs reunited with the rest of their bodies.

Suddenly, the only thing broken was George, and there was no spell that could fix that. He glanced over his shoulder towards his brother, who was still staring numbly into space, as he searched for the tea kettle. It was the first time he had ever seen him look so unkept. Stubble was growing patchily across his chin and his skin was sickly pale, only making the dark circles under his eyes that much darker. One of his hands were covered in bruises and cuts that had dried out days ago.

Ron wished he had come earlier. If they hadn't fought, he wouldn't have waited until good news came around the corner to check on him. Right after the war, George not coming into work for days on end was normal, but after Hannah he came in everyday, full of life and excited. When he didn't come in Ron had assumed it was to avoid him, but now it seemed it had been much greater than any fight between brothers.

The kettle whistled, knocking him out of his frantic attempt to understand what the devastation meant. He poured the steaming water into two cups, watching as the teabags began to turn the water dark. Water splashed up onto his hand and he swore, banging the kettle against the counter. Quickly, he glanced back at George, relieved to find that he hadn't noticed. He carried the cups to the table and then to George, helping him up from the bed and leading him to the table. He stumbled over his feet, practically crashing into his chair, and then slumped into his arms. He ignored the tea entirely.

Ron sat across from him, and for the second time, wished that Hermione was there. She always knew what to say, and what to do, and as she so poetically put it, he had the emotional range of teaspoon.

And George needed far more than a teaspoon.

"Tell me what happened," he tried, completely shocked when George burst into tears, recounting every fucked-up thing he had done and said that terrible day. Ron did his best to listen, but it was all so fast, all so garbled beneath tears that all he learned was what he already knew. Hannah was gone because George had told her to leave.

As he finished, Ron sat in stunned silence. He had absolutely no idea what to do, he glanced around the kitchen awkwardly before his eyes landed on the phone perched on the wall. Struck with divine inspiration, he stood and dialed the number of the phone Hermione had insisted they install so she could call her parents. He had never been more grateful for that damn device.

"Hermione," he gasped as soon as she answered.

"Did you tell him?"

"No, not yet something's happened," he began before filling her in on what little he knew. She listened intently, not once interrupting as he tried to portray how pitiful the situation looked from his end. When he had finished a beat of silence passed while he waited for her to respond, it wasn't until a loud crack filled the studio flat that he realized she had hung up on him.

He turned and watched as Hermione immediately began to work her magic, he wasn't sure why he hadn't called her first. She asked George to repeat the story, holding him as he cried, reassuring him that everything was going to be alright. When she had been filled in, she helped him back to bed, pulling the covers over his chest.

"I'm going to talk to Hannah."

"I think I'm going to spend the night here, make sure he's alright," Ron replied and Hermione nodded in approval before snagging a business card stuck between the receiver and the wall, noting the address before apparating right outside the tiny establishment.

She stepped inside and was surprised to find Malfoy standing at the bar as he served up drinks. His nose was still pretty busted, his pride freshly bruised, so when Hermione Granger appeared inside the bar, it wasn't entirely his fault he felt for his wand beneath the counter. She quickly sensed his discomfort as she approached and did her best to appear as unthreatening as possible.

"I never slept with her," he announced, loud enough to capture the attention of a few patrons, who returned to their drinks when they realized a fight wasn't going to break out.

"I know," Hermione responded, "I just want to see her."

"He fucked up, Hermione."

"I know, but she needs to know that he knows it too." Malfoy hesitated, before pointing towards a small staircase in the backroom. She thanked him and quickly hurried up the staircase before knocking lightly against the small wooden door.

A tiny 'come in' invited her inside, and so she pushed into the cramped home. It was nothing but a bedroom and a bathroom, and at the center of it was a bundled-up Hannah. When she realized it wasn't Draco, she jumped from the bed, wiping away the streaks of mascara.

It was clear Hannah hadn't moved from her bed since the fight either.

"Hermione, I didn't know you'd be stopping by what can I do for you? I'm sorry it's such a mess I haven't had a chance to clean up, there's not much seating," she said as she scrambled around the room, doing her best to clean both herself and the room that had served as her cocoon for the past few days.

"Hannah, I know." That was all it took for her to stop and collapse within herself once more. Hermione rushed to her side, helping her back into her as she brushed away her hair.

"I never slept with Draco; I swear I never slept with him. I don't know why he thinks I slept with him, Hermione you have to tell him, I never slept with Draco," she cried as Hermione promised her the same things she had whispered to George as he cried.

"I know Hannah, I know."

"And I don't want to be Fred, I just want him to be okay, but he won't let me, why won't he let me." Hermione help her as closely as she could. Once more she promised it would be all okay, but she wasn't sure if that was the truth.