Disclaimer - I own nothing you recognise

Challenge list at the bottom.

Warning - Alcohol abuse.

Beta'd by the lovely Sam.

Written for the Gorgeous Mary for GGE.

A Beacon of Hope

He threw his coat on over his scrubs, not even bothering to change before he left the hospital. It'd been a long shift, and Seamus wanted nothing more than to go home, collapse on the sofa, and, if he could stay awake long enough, perhaps even gorge himself on a chinese takeaway.

Living in the Muggle world was a godsend sometimes.

Taking the Muggle way out onto the streets of London, Seamus pulled his coat tighter around himself to defend against the chill and headed towards his flat. No matter how tired he was from work, he kept alert, looking around himself as he walked, checking in the doorways as he passed.

Sure enough, as he walked past boots, a foot in a recognisable boot caught his attention. Stepping closer to the doorway, he catalogued the red hair and the glassy eyes and sighed.

"Come on, mate," he murmured, pulling the body up.

A brief fight, if it could be called that, and there was an arm resting around Seamus' shoulders, and the weight of an unhelpful figure became Seamus' burden to bare the rest of the way home.

Letting them into the flat awkwardly, he pushed the figure onto the sofa and shook himself out a little, hanging his coat up and toeing off his shoes. Sighing to himself, he called quickly for a takeaway, ordering double in the hopes he could convince his 'guest' to eat, and washed his hands in the kitchen sink.

"Seamus?"

"What?" he called, surprised that he'd gotten any sense at all out of the prone body on his sofa.

He moved to stand against the doorframe, watching the man in front of him struggle into a sitting position.

"Why'd you keep doin' this? M'fine."

Seamus shrugged. "You still matter. I'm hoping I can make you realise that."

"Nah. M'nothin' now."

Seamus sighed again, rolling his eyes. "Food's coming. You can eat and then make yourself at home in the guest room."

Returning to the kitchen, he poured himself a glass of water, and after a moment's pause, poured a second, taking it into the living room.

"Here, drink."

"If s'not whiskey, I don't wan'it."

"Just drink it," Seamus replied, placing the plastic beaker on the side table. He'd learnt the hard way not to offer his 'guest' glass.

Seamus wandered off to the bathroom, setting the shower on as he passed through to the bedroom to grab a clean pair of pyjama bottoms.

He cleaned off the harshness of the day and relaxed under the water for a few extra minutes, scrubbing shampoo through his hair.

If somebody asked him why he continued to fight what was seemingly a losing battle, he wouldn't be able to explain himself. This pattern had been going on for months, perhaps longer than a year now that he thought about it, and it wasn't changing.

He didn't know if it would ever change.

He did know that he would continue being a glutton for punishment. He would continue walking home, in the hopes of stumbling across the sad man he wanted to care for. He would continue bringing him home and he would continue to hope that one day, he'd be walking into Seamus' flat under his own steam, wanting to be there instead of being brought.

Drying himself off and dressing in his pyjama bottoms, he wandered barefoot back into the living room.

"You look hot."

Seamus rolled his eyes. "You could do with a shower yourself," he retorted, not waiting for a reply as the bell rang, signalling the arrival of the food.

Minutes later, he was dishing up two plates, knowing one of them would likely only be picked at, or go completely to waste.

He put the second plate on the table, sitting down in his armchair with his own on his knee. He waited to see if there was movement (there wasn't) before shrugging and tucking into his own food.

He made quick work of it, and the contentment of a good meal settled over him, forcing his eyelids to droop as the many hours he'd been awake caught up with him.

"I'm going to bed, you know where the guest room is," he said, taking his plate into the kitchen.

He got a grunt of acknowledgement from the lump on the sofa.

"Goodnight, George."

"Healer Finnigan?"

"Hmm?" Seamus looked up from the report he'd been reading. "What is it?"

"We've have an unconscious man brought in, and there's nobody free. Can you come?"

"Of course," Seamus said, setting the report on his desk and following the nurse through the corridors. Pushing his way through the curtains, his heart sank.

Messy red hair covered the pillow.

"What happened?"

"He was found outside the old Weasley joke shop, down on Diagon, a bottle of whiskey near his head."

"Of course he was," Seamus sighed. "Alright, set up an IV. I'd spell the sober up potion into his stomach, but honestly, while he's here I wouldn't be averse to getting a few nutrient potions in his system."

The nurse followed his orders while Seamus watched on sadly.

How can you stop someone from killing themselves when they want to die?

Watching the redhead, prone once more, only this time in a hospital bed, Seamus knew he couldn't do it anymore. He couldn't watch the man he loved kill himself this painfully. He almost wished for something quicker, because at least then he would be able to explain his grief.

This watching and waiting wasn't just killing George anymore. It was killing both of them.

"Weasley is demanding release."

Seamus nodded, keeping his eyes on the report. "Then release him," he replied. "We've got no grounds to keep him here."

"He wants to see you first."

"Why?" Seamus asked, looking up at the nurse.

She shrugged. "He didn't say."

"Just tell him he's free to go," Seamus replied, turning his attention back to the report. He didn't want to repeat the same conversation they had, especially not in the middle of the hospital that was holding Seamus together.

He'd put everything he had into learning to be a healer, all the anger from the war, all the pain he'd felt, all of it had gone into helping other people.

He wouldn't let George poison that, no matter how much Seamus cared about him.

He lost himself in the report, filling in the details that had been missed by the interns, and refused to think that for the first time since the war, George had actually asked for him.

And he'd refused.

He threw his coat on over his scrubs, not even bothering to change before he left the hospital. It'd been a long shift, and Seamus wanted nothing more than to go home, collapse on the sofa, and, if he could stay awake long enough, perhaps even gorge himself on a Chinese takeaway.

He thought briefly of Apparating home, but chided himself, taking the Muggle exit as he always did. There, leaning against the wall where Purge and Dowse Ltd ended, was George, smoking a Muggle cigarette.

Seamus looked at him for a long moment, before he shook his head and walked away.

"I waited for you," George said quietly, his voice carrying in the night air.

"I guess you waited for nothing," Seamus replied tiredly, stopping but not turning around. "I have nothing left to give you, George."

When no reply came, Seamus continued on his way, fighting the tears that threatened.

It was done.

Now he could grieve.

Weeks passed by, and Seamus Apparated home from work. He called for Indian and Thai, and anything that was decidedly not Chinese, and he worked himself to the bone, until he had nothing left in him, until he knew he would pass out without dreaming.

He heard and saw nothing of George in that time and the small bubble of hope he'd held was all but burst.

On a rare (forced) day off, he lounged about the house, debating on whether he wanted to go to the effort of getting dressed to go to the cinema, or even as far as the supermarket to buy groceries so he might actually cook instead of calling for a takeaway.

At five that evening, he finally convinced himself to move, and as he walked the aisles of the supermarket, he decided to cook a stir fry. He even treated himself to a sticky toffee pudding for afters. He debated for a moment over a bottle of wine, but left it on the shelf, refusing to sit drinking alone.

That would hold nothing good for anyone.

Letting himself into his flat, he knew immediately that there was something wrong. Passing through the doorway, he found himself completely unsurprised to see George sitting on the sofa.

What was surprising was that George had showered and was wearing clean clothes, his hair a mess, but a clean mess, and his eyes alert.

What was even more surprising was the lack of the sour alcohol odour that usually clung to him.

"What are you doing here?" Seamus asked as he passed him, taking the bags into the kitchen.

"I know I have no right to be here," George said nervously. "And I know that you're more than within your rights to tell me to go to hell. But…"

"But?" Seamus asked when no words followed.

"I started the AA Potion, Shay. I've taken it every day for the last two weeks. I'll keep taking it."

Seamus' eyes widened slightly. The AA Potion was a fairly new invention, made by a Muggleborn, hense the name. It would help a witch or wizard give up alcohol, only, the person had to want to give up. Given to someone with no desire to get better, it would do nothing but make them sick.

"You were there for me when I was at rock bottom. I thought… I hoped, you'd let me be here now that I'm slowly climbing back up."

Seamus nodded slowly. "I'm making stir fry. You can stay if you want."

He turned to see an honest smile light up George's face as he took a seat at the kitchen table. Seamus snorted.

"Nuh-huh. On your feet, Weasley. I'll feed you but you can come help slice and dice."

The chuckle behind him settled in Seamus' chest, a beacon of hope unburst, telling him that perhaps, the pain and the grief was all worth it in the end.

"I've been clean for a year, Fred. I know… I know I can't have made you proud. But I want to. I'm going to open up the shop again next week, ready for the school rush. There's new products to be launched, you know? And Ron is coming to help, because it's probably going to be madness.

"I hope… Wherever you are, I hope that you're okay. That you're happy, and raising merry hell for anyone else who's there. I miss you. I miss you so much, but I'm learning to cope. And you know, Shay is… he's amazing Fred. He really is. He helps me so much, even when it's just to tell me to stop moping and get my arse up off the sofa.

"I… I'm going to ask him to marry me. At the opening. I hope you approve. I won't have a best man, because nobody can take your place, but you'll be there, won't you, Fred? You're always there."

A hand on George's back startled him slightly, but he was calmed when familiar chapped lips pressed to his neck.

"You okay?"

George nodded. "Yeah… I think I am actually. I never expected to get here."

Seamus smiled, allowing George to embrace him.

"Your Mum is calling for dinner, babe, that's why I came out. You ready to eat?"

George nodded, taking one last look at the well loved headstone. "Later, Freddie."

Seamus squeezed George's hand, and the two of them walked back to the Burrow.

Together.

Written for;

Yule Ball - 19. Catching Two People In Flagrante Delicto - Write about an odd pairing.

WC, Book Club - Lana Lazar: (occupation) healer, (object) cigarette, (dialogue) "I guess you waited for nothing."

WC, Buttons - Repeat

WC, Showtime - 7. Disappear - (dialogue) "You still matter."

Resolutions - 10. Write a pairing you've never written before

Stickers - Slytherin Collection - Emerald Prompt - Hope.

Insane House Challenge - GeorgeSeamus

Dragon Appreciation Challenge - WC 1996

Writing Month - WC 1996