Solace
A/N: I've got the basic plot worked out for this. I hope you like it. Please review. Feedback is necessary for one to improve or stick with something. I am planning on continuing updating Damage Control. I plan on updating both stories around the same time. This is unrelated to Damage Control, for those of you who have read it.

1.
Hermione Granger

I remember the first time they admitted him to St. Mungo's. It had been four months after Fred had died, and I'd just begun visiting George, who'd been having surgeries on his ear to see if they could restore his hearing. I'd been heading through the lobby when a couple Healers were coming past, wheeling along a cot. I step to the side as they came past to the elevator, and I catch sight of his face.

He looked awful. He was under a sheet, his head the only thing visible, eyes flickering open and shut every few seconds. Gone was his sleek hair and handsome looks. Now he was deathly pale. To say he was paper-white would be an understatement. He had a dark purple circular bruise around his neck. His eyes open longer than a nanosecond and meet mine. "Hermione," he croaks.

"Pardon, Miss," one of the Healers say as he hits the button on the elevator door. "He's a bit off, you know."

I don't move. "What's wrong with him?"

"Tried to hang himself," another Healer pipes up.

"With a chain. He's lucky it didn't puncture his jugular," the first Healer says.

"Lucky," the other says tartly. "I think he wanted to die. It was unlucky someone found him."

"Hermione," he groans. His hand reaches out for me blindly, and I flinch.

"You know him, Miss?"

I hesitate, staring down at his face. Sticky tears wet his eyelashes. "Yes," I say at last.

"Well, come along, then. I think he just needs someone to talk to."

"He has a family," I say flatly. "Friends, too, if they care enough about him."

"Hermione..."

"He's going to a psychiatric ward," the witch explains.

"Come," he cries.

"Miss, come along," the wizard says as the elevator door opens. He pushes the cot in. "Come along, now."

I hesitate again, staring at his closed eyelids and bruised face. It didn't make sense. Why would he try to commit suicide? No crimes had been brought against him yet. He was a free man. I give in and step into the elevator.

"Thank you, Miss. He's a bit off, you know, it'll do him good to have someone to talk to."

I give a curt nod, unsure why I had agreed to come. The witch hits another button. We step out of the elevator. They move his stretcher along into a half-filled room. The memory ward. It was probably the only psychiatric ward St. Mungo's had. Gilderoy Lockhart looks up from where he was signing photographs and Neville Longbottom, who was visiting his parents, clenches his hands into tight fists. He steps across the room to stand next to me.

"What happened?" he asks quietly.

"They told me he tried to hang himself," I say.

"Wish it had worked," Neville says venomously. Rarely have I heard such poison in his voice. "How'd George's surgery go?"

"It didn't work. He's still half-deaf. He's having another operation tomorrow."

"Pity things like that happen to decent people. They should happen to ones like him," he says, jerking his head in the direction of the cot as the Healers sweep a curtain around him. "Not to invade privacy, but why are you with him?"

"I was leaving George's surgery, and they were pulling him in, and he...said my name."

"He always was odd."

"Yes."

An hour passes. Neville leaves his parents' bedside with a nod to me. At last the two Healers who had brought him in step out from the curtain. "You can go see him now, Miss," the wizard says. "He's a bit off still, might fall asleep."

"Okay." I have no intention in going to talk to him. So...

Why am I still here?

I grab my cloak, ready to leave, when I hear him groan. "Hermione..." The female Healer raises her eyebrow. "We'll let you talk in peace," she says, and they go to help Frank and Alice Longbottom ready for sleep. It was clearly an invitation to see him. I force my feet to move from where they were rooted to the floor and cross the room. I sweep aside the curtain and sit at the chair beside his bed. He was still pale. The sheet was pulled up to his bare torso. I take in his skinny, underfed body, the various scars crisscrossing his ribcage.

"Hermione," he whispers. His eyes flutter open. "Don't go."

I look at the ring around his neck. "Why did you do that?" I ask quietly. Now that I am closer, I can see the individual marks the links of the chain made.

"I don't know," he murmurs. "I had a dream, and I thought I was there again..." He shudders.

"There? Where's that?" It's hard for me to feel pity for someone so undeserving of it.

"Home," he murmurs. "And Aunt Bella was there, and you were, and..."

"And what?" I whisper, leaning closer.

"Cruciatus Curse...and you were screaming... Wanted to do something..."

I know what he's talking about now. The day Ron, Harry, Dean, Griphook, and I had been captured by Fenrir Greyback and taken to the Malfoys' mansion. "Why didn't you?" I say, my voice harsher, flatter now.

"He would kill them," he murmurs. His voice dies and he closes his eyes and groans. "He would kill them," he repeats. I see tears slide down his face. "It's my fault, all my fault," he moans, pulling the sheet over his body. He clutches it so hard his knuckles turn white.

"It's not your fault," I say, although I'm not really sure which of his crimes he was taking blame for. One thing is certain-he's in need of help. Help I don't know if anyone can give. The kind he doesn't deserve.

"What aren't I dead yet?" He laughs mirthlessly. It rasps through his throat. "I should be dead."

Yes, you should be. Aloud, I say, "No. Don't think like that." I'm not sure why I do. He should be dead. By all rights he should be burning in hell for eternity, in the deepest parts reserved for criminals like him. I haven't forgiven him. I never will.

"It's all my fault," he whispers, eyes glassy and wide, staring at nothing. "It was always going to be my fault. He wanted it to be...my fault."

"No. It's not your fault."

He sighs again and closes his eyes once more. Soon his breathing steadies, and I listen for a few minutes to the rhythmic sounds of him falling asleep. Then I stand and leave.

"Hello, Hermione!" George says with forced cheer as he sits up in his bed. "Nice to see you again."

"Good morning," I say, returning his smile as I sit down on the edge of the bed beside him. "Can you hear any better at all?"

"I don't know," he says, wrinkling his nose and screwing his eyes shut, covering his single ear. "Say something."

"Something," I say loudly.

His expression falters. "Maybe. This surgery today might be better."

"Ron said he's coming in as soon as he gets off work," I say.

"Okay," he says glumly, staring ahead. "No offense to you or anything, Hermione, but when it's just you and Mum and Percy, it can get boring."

"Harry and Mr. Weasley and your brothers and Ginny come in all the time," I say fairly.

"Not as much as Percy," he mutters. "Percy can get irritating. He's like a male version of you."

"I find that offensive," I say, but I grin. It's one of the first times I've heard him try to joke in months.

"It was a compliment," he says, laughing, but quickly his expression sours again as he stares ahead. I feel a pang as I look at him scowling. At least today he's making an effort. Ever since Fred died, he'd been about as emotional as pregnant woman.

"How are you?" I ask quietly.

He looks up and meets my eyes, looking resigned. "Tired. I miss him."

"We all do," I say softly.

He shakes his head. A tear runs down his cheek. "I never thought I'd have to go on without him, you know? Even when we were doing all the dangerous stuff for the Order of the Phoenix, I knew we'd both get out."

"Fred knew what could happen," I say softly. "It's not your fault."

"I could have went with Percy, Ron, and Harry," he says bitterly. "I was with Kingsley and Remus. Then he'd still be here, and I'd be...there."

"Stop being ridiculous," I reprimand.

He sighs. We sit in silence. Then he says, "Thanks, Hermione."

"No problem."

He gives me a watery smile. "Enough about me. What's going on with you?"

"Not much. Yesterday when I was leaving I saw Malfoy." I try to say it casually, when really I want to puke.

George curls his lip in a sneer. "What was he doing here?"

"He tried to kill himself," I answer quietly.

He snorts. "It has to be bad when even your suicide attempt fails." He looks angry now as he sits up. "The asshole."

I give a curt nod. I wonder how many times George had stayed up, wishing he had died in Fred's place, or that someone else had. I wonder if he'd ever looked in the mirror and thought about his other half... In the past four months that I've been staying with the Weasleys, I've noticed a distinctive lack of mirrors, although no one mentions it. George looks broken now. I feel a rush of pity for him, but I manage to curb it as I say, "Yeah. I wonder if anyone's going to bring anything against him at the Wizengamot."

"You should," George reasons fairly. "In fact, you can. Percy says they get a lot every day."

The idea of bringing crimes into the light is both tantalizing and sickening. I shrug. "Maybe."

"Well," he says, "I think I might, then. He's done a hell lot of things that should land him in an Azkaban cell." That's only one thing Fred's death has done to George. He now uses foul language wherever he deems it fitting.

"I miss you," I say softly. I don't finish the sentence, but he can feel the weight of the unspoken words. I miss who he was before, even if I'd disagreed with him and Fred in some of their dealings.

He puts one arm around my shoulder and kisses my cheek. "I was never gone, Hermione." I don't say anything as tears run down my face, which is an answer in itself. He sits up and wraps an arm around my waist and presses his lips to my forehead. "I'm still here," he whispers.

This is what happens. Everything has an expiration date, and I've noticed that a lot of times, things break before they reach their time.

A Healer comes in and tells me I will have to leave for the operation on George's ear canal. It could take several hours. I nod, force George a smile, and leave. I stand outside his room for a few minutes before slipping down the corridor.

It takes me by surprise when I'm in the lobby and a Healer approaches me. It's one of the ones from yesterday. The wizard. He beams at me, scratches his scruffy beard for a moment, and says, "Miss, you're the one who knows the Malfoy boy, correct?"

"Correct."

"Aye, he keeps asking for you."

What the hell? My surprise and disgust must show on my face, because he goes on quickly, "You are Hermione?"

"The one and only," I say humorlessly.

"The Hermione Granger? Order of the Phoenix, First Class, and Order of Merlin, Second Class? Founder of S.P.E.W.?"

"We aren't here to discuss the sacrifices I made in the past," I snap. "He was asking for me?"

"Yes. He's delirious, Miss. We gave him Draught of Peace for anxiety, but it didn't work. He keeps asking for you."

"What is he saying?" I ask.

"He's just saying, 'Hermione.' Sometimes while he's sleeping he cries out, but then it's not your name."

I stare at the Healer, who looks just as bemused as I feel. "Where is he?"

"Same place he was yesterday, Miss."

"Thank you," I say abruptly, turning away from him and to the staircase. I begin heading up until I find myself at the door of the Memory Ward. I hold my breath and turn the handle. The Memory Ward looks almost exactly the way I left it. Lockhart was still signing autographs. A Healer was giving a dazed-looking Ministry worker his breakfast. Alice Longbottom was staring at pictures on her nightstand with no sign of recognition.

The curtain in the back corner was pulled over its inhabitant. I make my way over there and sit down in the same chair as yesterday. He lies under several thick blankets, eyes shut.

He opens his eyes and stares up at me. "Hermione," he whispers.

I look back down at him, struggling not to hit him, jinx him, kill him. "What do you want from me?" My voice sounds harsh. I'm glad. Inside I'm shaking.

He shuts his eyes right. "I'm sorry."

"'Sorry' doesn't cut it," I say. "In case you hadn't noticed, you tried to kill us."

"I'm sorry," he repeats, and I'm surprised by the remorse in his voice. His eyes are still shut as he exhales. "He had a bribe then."

"That's a shitty reason to kill anybody," I say coldly.

He clenches his fists on the blankets. "I know," he whispers. "More like blackmail than anything." I see a tear roll down his cheek, and I'm surprised to find I feel unsympathetic. He sniffles, wipes his eyes, and continues to stare up at the ceiling. His eyes are glazed over.

"Don't go," he mumbles.

"Why shouldn't I? You killed people, Malfoy. People saw it themselves. You're a coward and a backstabber." I stand to leave. He watches with empty eyes before closing them, and I step out from the curtain. I clench my fists and leave the Memory Ward; head downstairs to await the end of George's surgery.