My Name is George Weasley: I Am Clinically Depressed

This story will only be three parts. I wanted to do something while I was bored, so I figured hey why not write a little story about George. It's short, not meant to be serious, and only done out of boredom. In fact, almost all of it is meant to be for comedic value. I've been thinking of writing a more serious fan fiction, but in the meantime..here it is:

My Name is George Weasley: I Am Clinically Depressed

"Mr...Weasley," called the lady at the front desk. "Dr. Lovegood will see you now."

The man who had been sitting with his arms folded, staring into nothingness, had just flinched a little at being awoken from his daydream. He had a scruffy face with sunken eyes which made him look sinister, almost evil. There was nothing evil in him, however. In fact, this man was far from evil. George Weasley stood up and moved toward the office door with a discernible sluggishness. He entered the room and closed the door.

The room he had just entered was wonderfully adorned with various (and quite useless) magical objects. A foe glass stood unmoving, faceless, on the desk of Dr. Lovegood. Next to the foe glass sat an outlandish looking object, box shaped, with tons of small horns coming out of it. George wanted to examine the object closer, but knowing Dr. Lovegood he thought better of it. It was at that moment Dr. Lovegood stepped out of the shadows, her glasses on, staring at something miniscule in her hand.

"My apologies, George," said Dr. Lovegood, "I thought perhaps I had caught the nargles this time."

"Nargles," inquired George, "I thought they were found in ––"

"..mistletoe," interrupted Dr. Lovegood, "but they seem to have migrated. Strange, nargles are. You never seem to know what they..."

It was as if she just noticed George was sitting there. She stopped midsentence and sat down, her face now serious.

"George, I have wondered when you would come to me. You need a lot of help."

"Gee, thanks.."

"No, no. I meant..you need to talk to someone."

George snorted, "Why would I need to talk to someone?"

Dr. Lovegood, for the first time, looked at him with a sense of ardent compassion. George was hoping she wouldn't mention it, and was glad when she didn't.

"I have noticed a characteristic in you. You have all the signs. I know it well. George, I'm afraid I have bad news.."

George shifted slightly in his chair.

Dr. Lovegood looked at him gravely, took a deep breathe, and said, "You have Wrackspurt."

George didn't move for five full seconds. Then he began to laugh.

"Excuse me Luna..I mean, Dr. Lovegood, what was that?"

"You have Wrackspurt, George. A serious case. You lost your ear in the battle.."

"I didn't seem to notice that," interjected George.

"..which gave the Wrackspurt an even bigger hole to fly into." Dr. Lovegood continued on as if she had not even heard a thing. "You must get it checked out, immediately."

George stood up.

"I'm sorry for bothering you, Dr. Lovegood. I know my brother has been dead for eight years now, I don't need to talk about it. I'm perfectly fine with it. Some of us go earlier than others. Good day."

Before Luna could even say anything he left the room. George reached for his jacket on the coat rack and hastily put it on. The desk secretary said something but George didn't care. He stepped out the front door, turned on the spot, and was gone with a crack.

With one swift motion George appeared in his bedroom, took off his jacket, and tossed it on the bed. He sat down next to it and placed his hands over his face.

It had been almost eight years since the death of his brother, and best friend, Fred. Something inside his head told him that he should feel horrible about it still, after all this time; another voice tried to convince him eight years was an eternity and he should be over it. Did his family really expect him to talk about it now? And out of all the people, with Loony Lovegood? The girl who still saw nargles and believed in Wrackspurt? He decided it was best if he got his mind off of it. George stood up and left the room, through the door, down the stairs, and into his store room. He walked through the back room, through the back curtain, and stepped into the dimly lit store.

Lines of shelves covered the store, filled with various bits and pieces of a young prankster's dream. Fake wands, Skiving Snack Boxes, Instant Love Potions. If you can think of it, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes probably has it. There was a young man standing behind the counter, his auburn hair shining with the sunlight, talking to a beautiful young pregnant woman with curly brown hair. Ron and Hermione Weasley turned around, noticing George enter the room. With every effort of sympathy, Hermione spoke to George.

"Hello, George. How was.."

"Don't ask. I can't believe I let you lot talk me into seeing Dr. Loony.."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Ya know, George. She's rather thoughtful. Pretty smart, too.."

"She told me I had Wrackspurt, Ron."

Ron seemed to have no retort. He wanted to laugh, but was too proud. At that moment a boy walked in, no older than thirteen, and started to look around. George payed no attention to him. Hermione seemed to be set on getting George in a good mood.

"Great news, George. Charlie sent an owl this morning. He'll be home for Christmas. Isn't that wonderful?"

Hermione beamed, but George just shrugged.

"It doesn't even matter anymore. Christmas is a lost cause these days.."

He picked up a rag on the counter and pretended to be wiping down a shelf. Ron and Hermione just looked at each other commiseratively. The boy who had been looking at the shelves picked up a Nosebleed Nougat out of the Skiving Snackboxes and looked at George.

"This is genius! You made these yourself?"

"No," replied George, "My brother and I developed them."

"Where.."

"He's dead."

A stone cold silence enveloped the room. Nobody moved.

"I was..just going to ask you..where you got the idea from.."

George scowled. "Does it really matter? Does anything matter?"

Hermione looked as if she would cry, her eyes slightly red, but it was Ron who moved around the counter and grabbed George by the arm, bringing him into the back room. Hermione went to go engage the boy in conversation, while Ron spoke to George.

"What the hell is wrong with you, George?"

"If you haven't noticed, I'm missing an ear. I'm not married. I have no life. Business is down. My best friend is dead. You have a hot wife, a baby on the way.."

"Alright, alright. I get it," Ron frowned. "So you think Hermione is hot," he added trying to sound casual.

George looked as if he might hit him.

"I'm joking, George. Just listen. It's been eight years. I miss Fred just as much as you do. I know you had a connection with him, and he was your best friend, but you are almost thirty years old. You have to get a hold of yourself."

George shook his head.

"I'm feeling sick. I need some tea."

George pulled his wand out of his pocket and made a flicking motion, but nothing happened. He did it again and nothing happened once more. Third time, not a charm, because still nothing happened.

"What in the name of Merlin's saggy right.."

Ron brazenly answered, "The Five Exceptions to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration.."

George looked at him perplexed. Ron shrugged.

"It pays to have a smart wife.."

"Why don't I know these things?"

"Maybe you have Loser's Lurgy?"

George wanted to laugh, but it seemed as if that part of him left long ago. Ron clapped him on the shoulder and walked back out into the store. George stood in the back for a few more minutes and decided it might do him some good to interact with some customers. The ominous feeling did not leave him, however, for the rest of the day.

"Chicken, anyone? Oh, George!"

George had just apparated into The Burrow with a crack. He looked around at a beautiful site.

Mrs. Weasley had just pulled an entire cooked chicken out of the oven and used her wand to glide it across the room and on to the table. The Burrow had looked as lively as always. Harry Potter sat at the head of one side of the table next to his wife Ginny, who at that very moment was so pregnant that it was utterly amazing she could fit any food inside of her stomach. Next to Ginny was Bill Weasley and on his left his lovely wife, Fleur. Next to Fleur sat their child Victoire. Long flowing red hair and earings, she was a spitting image of her father. Charlie Weasley, small and stocky with thick, burly arms sat next to Victoire. At the head of the table was Arthur and Molly, who despite their age still had the liveliness of a fifteen year old couple. On the other side of the table sat Ron and his also extremely pregnant wife Hermione. It was as if Ginny and Hermione were having a pregnancy race. Who can pop out the baby faster? Next to them were four seats. One was occupied by the well mannered Percy Weasley, and three others empty. One was George's, obviously, but George had not the faintest idea who the other two had belonged to.

Fleur turned around and called into the other room, "Gabbrielle! Ze turkey eez red-dee! Bring ze boy wit' you!"

George looked to his left where a fatigued Gabrielle Delacour had just slumped out of the living room. Following close behind her was a young boy. He couldn't have been older than eight years old, and he had the energy of a Fizzing Whizbee.

"Oh zis boy," exclaimed Gabrielle, "he juz duzz not rest!"

"VROOOOOOOOOOMMMMM! BANG BANG BANG!!! DIE! KILL! VROOOOOM!! TAKE THAT VOLDEY MORE! AHAH!"

Teddy Lupin slammed his Lord Voldemort action figure to the ground and stepped on it. He held up a Harry Potter action figure and made a triumphant noise, half way between a scream and a cough. This boy seemed to be nothing like his placid father, but everything like the reckless werewolf his father had turned into on many occasions. It took four people to calm the boy down and sit him at the table to eat, and even then he sent food flying everywhere as he banged his hands on the table. The greatest thing about this boy was the fact that his hair rapidly changed from one color of the rainbow to the next as this all went on.

"It was so nice of you to invite Teddy to dinner, mum," said Ron in an obviously sarcastic tone. Molly ignored her son and immediately looked at George.

"George, how are you?"

"I'm fine," said George in an very un-George like tone.

Molly looked at him pointedly.

"I'm sorry mum, there isn't much else to say.."

"It's okay to feel sad about your brother at a time like this.."

It was at that very moment several things happened. Teddy Lupin's chair flipped right over and the boy toppled to the floor. In reaction, Molly threw her hands up in the air and sent her fork flying right into Harry's eye. Harry yelled as he grabbed his eye in pain. George stood up and stormed towards the stairs. Molly stood up, totally ignoring the fact that Harry now had a second scar, this one right under his eye, bleeding.

"George, it's no good denying.."

"I don't want to talk about it, mum. Why can't you just see that I don't want to discuss it. Fred is gone, there's nothing we can do about it. Leave it alone."

Meanwhile, a separate conversation seemed to be going on. Ginny was trying not to laugh at Harry as his eye leaked a few drips of blood.

"Wassamatta, Harry? You can vanquish evil wizards and wield the most powerful wand on earth, but you can't stop a fork from stabbing you? You poor thing!"

Harry looked as if he would like to punch her...if only she weren't pregnant. Noody even seemed to notice Teddy Lupin was sitting on the floor, in a complete daze. Molly rolled her eyes and looked at Harry.

"Suck it up, Harry."

She seemed to have grown quite cranky in her old age. During this whole scene, Arthur remained in his chair, unflinching, eating his turkey and corn.

"Listen George," Molly said loudly, "it does you no good to stay cooped up inside and hide your feelings. Let..them..out!"

George punched the wall and knocked down several photos.

"Are you happy?"

"No, not really. I just put those up yesterday.."

George swore loudly and stammered up the stairs to his old bedroom. As soon as he walked in the room, he felt it. It was as if someone hit him in the face with a pan. His knees bacame weak and his brain seemed to hurt. A sharp pain struck his left ear, the one that had been cursed off. George fell to the ground and writhed along the floor. It was a pain he had never felt in his life, ever. He dragged himself to his bed, and barely got himself up on to it when suddenly..it stopped. He felt no pain. He felt no anger. In fact, he felt nothing. He seemed to float above the ground, almost as if he were a cloud of vapor. He looked down and would have screamed but it seemed as if he couldn't make a sound.

His body lie there on the bed. He was dead.


-- Meanwhile, downstairs in the kitchen --


It took about four hours before anybody even checked on George. It was Teddy who found him. The little boy had climbed the stairs wondering what havoc he could cause on the top floors, but instead of toys, he found George...dead.

"GEORGE IS SLEEEEEEEEEPYYYYY...but with his eyes open..hmmmmmmmmmmm....."

"What did you say?" Percy looked over in anxiousness. He seemed to be the only one who realized what was going on. The rest of them just kind of shrugged off anything Teddy said. He had become such a nuissance, everyone pretty much ignored him all the time.

Percy ran up the steps into George's bed room, and in a gigantic and dramatic heave towards the bed, he yelled..

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!"

But halfway into his vertical dive, he fell over a box, and hit his nose on the ground. Blood poured out everywhere, but he ignored it and ran over to George's body. He shook it violently but George did not move. His eyes, black as the night sky, were swimming in his head. For a person who had such life, such energy, it all ended so quickly. Percy cried over his brother as more and more people filled the room, screaming, crying. They could do nothing. It was over.

One hour later...Healer Wood had come from St. Mungos to inspect the body. Wood was shaken up at seeing the corpse of his former Quidditch comrade and friend, but inspected it nonetheless. After a half hour, he came to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley with the news.

"It seems as if..well, I don't even know what the hell could have caused him to just drop dead.."

"You're talking about my son, please don't say 'dropped dead.' in that tone.."

"My apologies. Anyway, yeah, I can't figure it out. Unless.."

Mrs. Weasley looked apprehensive.

"What is it?"

"Well..he shows all of the symptoms..but..."

Mrs. Weasley looked as if she might just shake Wood until he finally gave her an answer.

"The dustlike residue near his ear, the hot red forehead...if I inspected correctly, and I know I did, George died of...Wrackspurt."

Mrs. Weasley turned to Mr. Weasley, and they just looked at each other for a long time.