A/N- QLFC, Kenmare Kestrels, Chaser 1, Round 5

Main Prompt- Write about someone with a dangerous or unhealthy obsession.

Additional Prompts- (item) teacup, (emotion) fear, (dialogue) "It isn't that simple."

Warnings- OCD, self-harm

Also, I didn't mean for my first and only story that features two black protagonists to coincide with the Black Live's Matter protests going on in my country right now. It's just a happy coincidence. I would like to take this time to state my support for anyone who has suffered under the systemic racism in this country, or any other country, and feel like they have no voice. No one deserves to be treated as anything less than human just because of the color of their skin. I strive to be better, just as I hope the world does.

Word Count: 2991

Lee Jordan used to sleep in before the war. But these days, Lee was up with the sun.

Thankfully, so was Angelina.

Lee hopped out of the shower just as the sun peaked out over the horizon. He wrapped a towel around his waist and padded into the kitchen where Angelina was already perched on her favorite barstool, sipping from a steaming teacup, her entire focus on yesterday's Daily Prophet crossword puzzle. Today's edition of the Prophet hadn't arrived yet and would be saved for tomorrow. Lee poured a cup of tea for himself and sat down across from Angelina. They spent the next hour completing the crossword together.

This had been their routine for nearly six months and Lee liked the simplicity of it.

Angelina folded up the paper and set her pen on top, a pleased grin on her face. "Same time tomorrow?"

Lee grinned around the lip of his teacup. "Wouldn't miss it."

And then they went their separate ways to prepare for the day.

It was a Tuesday, so Angelina would be training with the Harpies. She wasn't a starter, but she was still part of the team, a reserve in case one of their Chasers was injured. She didn't seem to mind the arrangement, and Lee liked how her status as a reserve seemed to have mellowed her out. Angelina Johnson was still one of the most competitive people Lee had ever met, but she didn't seek out fights like she used to. A maturity had settled in her bones. It allowed her to finish a crossword with someone rather than against someone.

Lee loved this woman.

Lee dressed in the muggle outfit he'd picked out the night before. Muggle fashion was so much more interesting than he'd expected, and Lee had fun experimenting with the different styles. Today he wore distressed jeans with a graphic t-shirt tucked into the front and a pair of broken suspenders that only tightened on one shoulder. The other side hung loose and slipped down his arm. Lee let it. It was carefully crafted carelessness. He thought George might appreciate it.

On Tuesdays, Lee had his radio show, but didn't start until the afternoon, so, while Angelina went to training, Lee spent Tuesday mornings at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes visiting George.

He both looked forward to and dreaded these visits. Most of the time, George was perfectly normal. But every once and awhile, there would be something slightly off-kilter about him, something that made Lee's heart skip a beat in his chest. He could never quite figure out what that something was, and he figured he probably wouldn't unless it happened more often.

He really hoped it didn't happen more often.

Lee took the floo to the joke shop in Diagon Alley. It was still a few hours before W.W.W. opened, but Lee wasn't surprised in the least to see George already up and magically directing a display of Puking Pastilles a foot closer to the entrance.

Lee whistled as he took in the shop's new arrangement behind George's back. It seemed every time Lee stepped into W.W.W., George had redecorated.

Lee assumed it was because George was just bored as all hell.

"I like it. Very clean."

George grinned as he dropped his wand arm and darted around the front counter, his body disappearing as he bent over to stir something. "Thanks," he called out.

Lee strode over to the counter to get a better look at whatever George's new experiment was. The man had two cauldrons boiling, both with potions in the same slightly yellow hue. "What is that?"

"Can't you smell it? It's Amortentia. I'm brewing more for next month's batch of Our Tulips Should Kiss. It's nearly Valentine's Day after all."

Lee grinned. George seemed to be doing okay this morning, thank Merlin. His potions weren't creating a smell, but that was alright. Everything was fine. "Look at you," Lee joked. "Such a romantic."

George chuckled. "Or maybe I'm just a savvy businessman." George glanced up, his voice tapering off as he took in Lee's appearance for the first time that morning.

Lee's easy grin faltered as the silence stretched between them. George's eyes… He had that look again, like something wasn't quite right. Like something had spooked him into silence.

George barked out a sudden laugh, startlingly loud after the previous quiet, the look of fear he'd been sporting melting away almost as quickly as it had arrived. "What are you wearing?!"

Lee glanced down at his body, a sigh of relief eking past his lips.

But then…

He took in his outfit. His clothes were nowhere near outrageous enough to warrant George's reaction. Lee swallowed, an unpleasant ache tensing his shoulders. "What's wrong with it?"

George grimaced. "I'd definitely lose the suspenders. What are you, ninety?"

Lee laughed, but it sounded hollow. He wasn't sure why, but George's jokes just weren't connecting like they normally did. Everything just felt… off.

"They're cool," Lee insisted.

George rolled his eyes. "Sure, whatever you say."

Suddenly, Lee couldn't wait for it to be afternoon. George was acting weird again.

It was nearly March when Angelina Johnson exited Quality Quidditch Supplies and turned right down Diagon Alley towards the joke shop. It was her turn to check on George.

Why was it that she and Lee felt the need to check on George?

George was fine…

Most of the time, anyway.

Lee noticed the weirdness more often than she did, but then, he visited more often than she did. Angelina also had a higher tolerance for weird, especially when it came to George Weasley.

His twin died. Was he supposed to just be… normal?

Did George even have a "normal" without Fred?

Angelina popped her head into the shop, taking in the new arrangement. It was odd that George spent a lot of time organizing things lately… but it wasn't dangerously unusual.

Angelina called out George's name in the empty shop. There was a sign on the front door stating that it was closed for a long lunch break.

George's sweet face emerged from the upstairs window that looked over the joke shop, a grin on his face as he squinted down at her. "Come on up! I'm making tea!"

Angelina chuckled. She closed the front door behind her before sprinting up the flight of stairs to George's living quarters.

George had his back turned toward the door, leaning over the stovetop as he poured hot water from the kettle into two teacups.

"You came just in time," said George as he picked up the cups and spun around. The surprise on his face at the state of Angelina's haircut would have been hilarious if it didn't make him slosh the steeping tea over the side of the cup in his right hand. The scalding water burned his hand and the teacup slipped from his grip and shattered at his feet. He stared at it for so long, like the world had ended.

"Hey, I'm so sorry," Angelina said, jumping forward to comfort him. She tried to smile, to laugh it off, but it came out so… wrong. "Didn't realize my haircut would startle you so much. Let me help you clean that up."

George looked away from the shattered glass to the one still in his hand. Angelina halted her steps, her breath catching in her throat as George let go and let the other teacup fall and break into pieces right next to the other one.

Angelina blinked, unsure of herself, unsure of anything.

Then, within one blink and the next, George was… George again. He rolled his eyes good-naturedly and grinned at her. "It's fine, I'll clean it."

Angelina was not breathing. She was experiencing a terrible kind of whiplash.

But George was fine.

Totally fine.

He was fine… right?

"I'm sorry about my hair." She ran a hand over the shaved side as if on autopilot. "I didn't know you'd find it so outrageous."

"Nah," said George as he vanished the broken dishes with a wave of his wand. "I actually like it. Maybe, next time you could shave both sides. Make it into a mohawk."

"Yeah, maybe," said Angelina. All she could think about was going home to Lee and crying.

Something was wrong with George.

He wasn't fine.

On April 1st, Lee and Angelina were invited by the Weasleys to visit Fred's grave. They accepted.

They went to George's beforehand, because he needed their presence while he got ready. That was how they found themselves in George's bedroom, watching the man tie and loosen and retie his tie in the tiny mirror on his night stand.

"I hate these things," muttered George. His eyes were red-rimmed and his voice was thick. Lee knew he must look just the same.

Fred had been George's brother, his other half.

And he had been Lee's brother, too.

"Let me," said Angelina, her footsteps light as she approached George. The redhead twisted around and held out the tie for her. It was a slow, heart-wrenching process as Angelina looped the tie around George's neck. Once she finished, she stepped back, admiring her work. "There. Perfectly straight."

George tried to grin and failed. He sucked in a stuttering breath and wiped his eyes with the back of his hands. "I— I need to pee."

Before Lee or Angelina could react to this announcement, George had locked himself in the en suite toilet, and a horrible silence fell over the tiny bedroom. Lee held out a hand and Angelina reached out to accept it, both of them needing the comfort as they waited for George.

Lee's heart ached for George. He loved that man. He loved him so much. More than words could possibly convey.

It wasn't fair. None of this was fair.

A hoarse yelp of pain sounded from the toilet. Lee blasted down the bathroom door before his brain even comprehended the weight of the wand in his hand.

Angelina made an inhuman noise as she sunk to her knees in the empty door frame. "George!" she shrieked.

Lee couldn't move.

His friend was laying on the floor. His friend was bleeding. His friend was losing consciousness.

His friend had cut off his remaining ear.

"You— I—" Lee stumbled over Angelina and pulled George into his arms, one hand coming up to stanch the bleeding from the hole in his head. "Hey, look at me! Stay with me!"

George's bleary, tear-stained eyes kept going in and out of focus, but finally, he was there, looking at Lee. "Hey," he said, a mere breath on the wind.

"Why?" Lee was crying. He knew he was crying. He couldn't stop crying. "Why would you do this?"

George's head went limp and his vision went blurry again— or maybe it was Lee's vision that had gone blurry. He couldn't stop the tears.

"HEY!" He yelled and screamed and pulled George's head to face his once more. "Why?"

"I had to. Or you'd both die."

What?!

Lee choked on nothing just as George slipped into unconsciousness.

"You'll be okay," he said, rocking George gently in his arms. "You'll be okay."

He kept saying it over and over, like maybe if he said it enough times, it would make it true. It was stupid, but his brain wasn't working. He should be flooing St. Mungo's. He should be letting the Weasleys know.

But he couldn't get up off the floor, the one stained red with the blood from George's self-inflicted head wound.

Thankfully, Angelina was a goddamn angel.

She took care of it all.

Lee didn't let go of George until the parahealers came and bloody made him.

Angelina sat upright in the waiting room chair with Lee's head in her lap. She couldn't be sure if he was sleeping or not, but it had been nearly five hours since they arrived at St. Mungo's with the rest of the Weasley clan. She wouldn't fault him for closing his eyes for a bit.

Angelina would be this man's rock if that's what he needed.

She loved him, after all.

A healer came through the door of the waiting room, an older man with thick framed glasses. "George Weasley?"

The whole waiting room snapped to attention at once. They'd taken over the hospital. No one present was there for someone else.

Everyone was there for George.

"We're George's family," announced Molly.

The healer glanced around at everyone. Bill and Fleur and their newborn daughter, Victiore. Charlie and Percy. Ron and Hermione. Harry and Ginny. Molly and Arthur.

Angelina and Lee.

"All of you?"

"Yes," Molly announced without hesitation. "Tell us about George."

The healer seemed to waver a bit, but when no one spoke up to refute their familial connection to George, he took a seat.

"We've reattached the ear and he will live."

Relieved tears prickled at the corners of Angelina's eyes and there was a collective sigh in the waiting room. Lee buried his head further into Angelina's lap, hiding his face as he silently wept.

"Can we see him?" asked Ginny.

The healer took a deep breath. "He's asleep at the moment, but perhaps in the morning. We should let him rest."

"Why'd he do it?"

Angelina felt Lee tense in her lap in response to Percy's question. She squeezed his shoulder tightly, which seemed to calm him a bit.

Most of the Weasleys were glaring at Percy, but the man looked supremely unapologetic for asking what they'd all been thinking. It was the first time Angelina had ever been proud of Percy.

The healer sighed again. "I only spoke with him for a few minutes, but… my preliminary diagnosis of Mister Weasley's condition is that he has a severe case of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, specifically that of a need for perfect symmetry."

It all started to make sense.

The organized shop. Lee's broken suspenders. Angelina's asymmetrical haircut. The second broken teacup. The uneven tie.

His dead twin, the one whose face might stare back at George in the bathroom mirror if not for the missing left ear.

Oh, George.

"Will he be okay?" asked Harry.

"Unfortunately, it isn't that simple," replied the healer, taking in all their somber faces. "His OCD goes beyond just needing things to be a certain way." Angelina's hand stilled in Lee's hair, knowing the words that would come next. "He thinks that if things aren't just right, his loved ones will die. That level of fear is dangerous."

Angelina's heart sank in her chest.

Oh… my poor, dearest George…

Angelina loved him so much, it hurt.

Lee was a walking zombie as he and Angelina followed the night healer down the hall to George's hospital room. Apparently, George was conscious and had sent a nurse to wake Lee and Angelina.

They had already been awake, though, as it was nearly sunrise and that was their routine. It took zero seconds for them to agree to see him.

And yet, Lee was drastically underprepared as he entered George's room.

The relief in George's eyes when he saw them— both of them— alive and well was unparalleled and knocked the wind right out of Lee.

George really thought we would die if he wasn't perfectly symmetrical, was Lee's first thought.

His second, as ludicrous as it was in his sleep-deprived state, was, George loves us too much.

But he couldn't blame George for that love. Lee loved him too much as well.

Angelina stalked to George's bedside, leaned over, and pressed a kiss directly on his lips. Then she pulled back and smiled down at him, a hand running through his thin red hair, limp from too much time spent in hospital.

"Do you need me to shave the other side of my head?" she asked.

Lee could see George break into a thousand pieces because of that one simple, lovely, beautiful question. Lee immediately stumbled to the other side of George's cot and grabbed the man's hand, squeezing so tightly.

George broke down and cried endlessly.

Lee wasn't sure how they stayed like that, a perfect triangle in the dim light of the early morning that peeked through a gap in the hospital's shuttered window. Lee ran his thumb along the back of George's hand, occasionally murmuring consoling nonsense.

The whole scene was painfully sweet and wonderfully terrible, horribly tender and achingly flawless.

It was everything.

Angelina was the first rise, to walk away. Lee wasn't too worried about her stepping out for a moment, calling for a nurse. It didn't break the triangle. It merely stretched it. She'd be back soon.

Lee took a seat on the bed beside George and flipped the man's hand over so that it was palm up. He ran his fingers lightly over the lines that crisscrossed George's pale skin as they waited for Angelina's return.

Lee had been so scared.

He was still scared.

He would never not be scared.

That fear of losing someone he loved never truly went away. It was always there, right beneath the surface of his skin. Most days he could cover it with other emotions, deeper emotions. He could bury it under love and happiness and exhilaration. Under peace and relief and contentment.

But it was there and sometimes, it was good to remind himself of its existence. And to remind himself that everyone had that same fear, that he wasn't alone.

Angelina's return tore Lee out of his melancholy stupor. Clutched in her hand was the previous day's issue of the Daily Prophet and a pen. She hopped onto the bed so that George was squeezed in between the two of them.

"Alright," she announced, uncapping her pen. "One across. Four letters. Not only one."

There was a beat of silence. And then…

"Both," George answered.

Angelina grinned and squeezed George's knee through the scratchy white sheets.

"Great. Next…"