game night | g. weasley

46. Recovery

TW: talk about self harm. it will not be taking place, only talked about.

•••

As the Christmas and New Years season rolled on past, business grew quieter at Weasleys Wizard Wheezes. Not only was it quiet in the shop, but in the flat as well.

George had been quieter ever since Del found out about his self harm, in fear that she would insult him or make fun of him for it.

He knew she wouldn't, but with the quiet came his dark thoughts, and with those came self-doubt.

"Does Freddie know?" Delilah asked one morning.

"Mm?" George responded back, his eyes still half closed as he rested his head on her chest.

It was fairly early in the morning, but Del hadn't been sleeping much lately. She always woke before George and fell asleep after him, making sure he fell asleep smoothly and woke up the same.

"Does Fred know about. . . Your self harm?"

This was the conversation George had been dreading, but he knew it was inevitable. Delilah was also dreading bringing it up, but she had questions. And if he wanted to answer them— only if— she would be happy to listen.

He squeezed her waist tighter, turning his head to look up at her. She was staring at the ceiling, her hands moving up and down simultaneously on his biceps in a soothing way.

"We don't have to talk about it," she whispered. "We can when your ready— or never at all. But if you do wanna talk about it now, I wanna know if there are others who know about it or have helped you in the past."

"Yeah, Freddie knows," George explained. "He found me in my sixth year, in the bathroom of our dorm. But I don't want him to know that. . . I did it again, because he was so proud of me w-when I—"

He stopped himself so she wouldn't hear his voice break, but Del could tell he was hurting. She laid his head back down on her chest, shushing him in a soothing way.

"Shh, take a deep breath," she whispered, running her fingers through his hair. "Go at your own pace, I'm not going anywhere."

"He was proud of me when I s-stopped," he cried, holding her tighter. "God, he was so proud."

"He's still proud of you, Georgie," Delilah reassured. "I promise he is. He's proud of you for letting me help you, and he's proud of you for communicating with me. And he's proud that you're still here."

She cleaned off his tears with the sleeve of her sweater, making sure it be gentle and calm, just how George liked it.

"Hey, can you hear that?" She suddenly said, her gaze turning to the window. "Look, love."

He sniffled, furrowing his eyebrows as he looked at the window. There two birds sat on the windowsill, pecking at the window screen and whistling together.

"Robins," George breathed, his head lifting off of her chest. "Probably only a year or two— they only live up to two years, y'know."

"I actually didn't know that," she smiled. "You're so smart, Georgie."

He turned back to her, his cheeks reddening, "N-not that smart. . . I mean, that's just a simple fact—"

She loved the way she could make him blush so easily, but she hated the way he doubted himself with everything he did.

"Stop it," she said sternly. "You're a brilliant man, George, why're you bringing yourself down? You think of your own products, that takes knowledge of potions and charms, and creativity and ideas."