Cursed

Once they had fortified themselves with a hearty meal, they stepped out of the back door of the Leaky Cauldron and entered Diagon Alley.  Jack was familiar with the wizarding world, but this was a new experience for him.  He looked around with a huge grin on his face, wide-eyed with wonder. 

“This is incredible!” he exclaimed, taking Ianto’s hand and looking at his lover, who was also grinning broadly as he took in a sight he hadn’t seen in years. 

Their first stop was at Gringott’s to update Ianto’s account.  When he had been reported dead, the contents of his vault had been added to his grandmother’s.  That now needed to be rectified.  Ianto had a letter from his grandmother and the key to his old vault.  With Harry, Ginny, and Luna vouching for his new identity, it did not take long to sort.  The goblins were nothing if not efficient, and Ianto could only be grateful, because he knew he would need his energy for the trip to Ollivander and Stone. 

Once his vault was set up (under Jones now, rather than Longbottom) and the monies transferred, he was allowed to survey the result.  He pocketed enough to cover a new wand and any other incidentals they might run across, and they headed for the wandmaker’s shop. 

Ianto took Jack’s arm as they strolled along, trailing behind Luna and Ginny, who were walking at a pace that was leisurely enough to allow Jack and Ianto peer into shop windows and marvel at the offerings.  Harry took up the rear, on the lookout for anyone who might try to interfere with their quiet wanderings. 

So far, they weren’t garnering much attention, but the Quibbler article had mentioned Torchwood, and Jack wasn’t exactly inconspicuous.  But Ianto, not wanting Jack to have to go incognito, was willing to brave any recognition.  In the end, it came from an unexpected quarter.

They were almost to the shop when a familiar voice called out, “Oi!”

In the next moment, George Weasley jogged up to them.  He glanced from Ginny to Harry to Jack, then back to his sister, who was frowning at him.  “Is it true, then?” he asked, turning to stare at Ianto with raw hope in his expression.

“George,” Harry said, his tone carrying a warning, not wishing for George’s behavior to attract unwanted attention. 

George stared at Ianto with startling intensity as the younger man calmly withstood the scrutiny.  He was leaning into Jack, more out of affection than affliction.  He knew he must pace himself, and so far he felt fine, but leaning on Jack helped him to conserve his energy. 

Plus it just felt nice. 

Jack tensed before relaxing when Ianto squeezed his arm in reassurance.  Ianto was well aware how offended Jack was that the people who had once known him looked so intently for Neville before being willing to see Ianto.  Ianto had tried to reassure his lover that he did not find it offensive.  It was just part of the process.  They needed to let Neville go, and they wouldn’t be able to do that until they were sure they did not see him in Ianto’s face.  And so, they had to look.  Thus far, that had been the process – and his friends had discovered that they would only begin to catch glimpses of the Neville he had once been if they could accept him as the Ianto he now was.  Jack was beginning to understand this, but he still felt protective of his lover.

Ianto gave Jack’s arm another squeeze before letting go of him and taking a step towards George, whose eyes fluttered before widening.

“It’s really you, then?” George whispered.

Ianto gave one of those smiles that made Jack’s knees go wibbly and offered his right hand to George.  “Ianto Jones, at your service.”

In a move that gave Ianto deja vu, George rolled his eyes and pulled Ianto into a massive hug.  He choked out a sob when he realized the height difference.  He’d been slightly taller than Neville, with the difference in their heights being less than an inch.  Now he was almost three inches taller than the younger man, and he knew what that meant regarding the pain Ianto had endured.

Ianto held onto George, one hand in the middle of his back, the other cradling his head.  George stooped and jammed his face into the space between Ianto’s neck and shoulder and let out a sob.  “It’s alright,” the younger man whispered, trying to soothe the wizard as the others looked on, somewhat confused.  They hadn’t realized George and Neville had been particularly close.

It probably seemed like an unlikely friendship, but it was one of those right-place, right-time friendships of opportunity.  About six months after the battle, Neville had been chafing against the restrictions of his Auror training.  He had spent the summer after the battle revising and taking his Newts, and now he was more than ready to be done with his training and begin some actual work. 

Bad memories, combined with no longer having as much freedom as when he had been leading a rebellion, had him feeling confined and unhappy.  Part of it was just the aftermath, but there was also PTSD and a strange sense of limbo, as well as the loneliness of never quite fitting in with his friends.  Sure, Luna and Ginny were as wonderful as ever, but they both had their own busy lives, and Neville just always felt like he was on the outside, looking in.

One weekend, he had decided to wander Diagon Alley in an effort to cheer himself up and was surprised to find the Weasley joke shop locked up and dark.  Something about it had bothered him terribly, to the point that he decided to let himself into the shop, via the back door.  He knew full well he was taking his life into his own hands, breaking into the twins’ shop, but he was just that worried.  What he found had made his blood turn to ice. 

George was sat on the floor next to one of the work benches in the back room, an empty bottle of fire whiskey on its side next to him.  But what Neville couldn’t take his eyes off of was the plain glass full of colorful potion in George’s hand.  Neville, despite having never done well in potions class, knew exactly what was in that glass.  (It was a blend he would come to know all too well, but that was more than a year in his future and had nothing to do with this.)

He sat down next to his friend and managed to take the glass from his hand.  George, who had been pining for his twin, collapsed against Neville and wept.  He was not angry for having been thwarted; rather, he was relieved at having been stopped.  He had no wish to cause his family more grief, but he missed his brother overwhelmingly.  The longing for his twin was made worse by the fact that George could not pass a mirror without seeing Fred, and it kept the wound raw.

Neville had held George until he slept, having worn himself out as yet another wave of grief had crashed down upon him.  He knew that Fred and George had shared a flat above the shop, so he carried George up and lay him on the sofa.  Looking around, he saw the place was a mess, and it was impossible to tell what was George’s and what had been Fred’s.  He had a feeling it had always been that way, but now it was probably worse.  He could almost feel George’s paralysis in not knowing what was his and not wanting to disturb anything of his brother’s.

In looking around, Neville saw that George needed help.  Someone to just get him started.  Nothing needed to be thrown away, precisely – it was all his, because it had also all been Fred’s.  But George now needed to get used to the concept of “his” after a lifetime of only knowing “theirs”.

Despite being a very unorganized person, Neville managed to sort through the belongings in the flat.  There were not that many – neither of the twins had amassed very many possessions.  Mostly it was clothing.  Far too many jumpers with either an “F” or a “G” on them.  He found and cleaned out the detritus of Fred’s old Hogwarts trunk and carefully stowed the items marked “F” and anything else that had obviously been Fred’s.  He put the trunk at the end of the bed in the less-used bedroom – the one he suspected might originally have been George’s – and then tidied the room, changed the linens on the bed, and closed the door.

He also gave what was now George’s bedroom the same treatment, stowing duplicate garments in George’s school trunk and putting away the rest.  He then woke the inebriated wizard, giving him a tall glass of water before helping him to undress and get into bed.  He washed the bed linens and tidied the rest of the flat, replacing all of the broken mirrors with pictures, and only repairing the small shaving mirror in George’s ensuite. 

He then headed down to the workshop to safely dispose of the poisoned potion and the evidence of George’s bender.  When he returned to the flat, he looked in on the sleeping wizard and then spent the night on the surprisingly comfortable sofa.  He made sure to be there when George woke, feeding him a full English breakfast and sitting with him as they ate in a strangely comfortable silence.

Once they had eaten, Neville took George by the hand and showed him what he had done, making it clear that he was willing to put everything back where it had been, if it was still too soon.  The older wizard collapsed against him, weeping – though with gratitude, this time.  It had been well past time to at least tidy up, but he hadn’t been able to look at any of it without being overcome by grief.  His family had been treating him with kid gloves, telling him to take his time.  But they had not recognized his need to at least organize the chaos that was left so he could stop drowning in it.

As it turned out, Neville’s kindness and assistance had been vital to George’s recovery.  It took another year, but he dated the beginning of his healing to the night that Neville Longbottom had happened upon him and kept him from doing the unthinkable. 

For the next six months, as Neville completed his Auror training, he spent as many nights on George’s sofa as in his own bed.  The two men quietly became good friends, both so isolated from the world (George not yet ready to rejoin it, Neville never having fully mastered being in it, in the first place) that no one took notice.

George had read in the Quibbler article how Neville had fled the wizarding world after friends and family had attacked him after being affected by the curses.  He had been terrified that he had been one of them.

He released Ianto from the embrace and just stared at him.  There was nothing left of Neville, except for the kindness in his eyes.  There was a sad smile there, as well, and that was all too familiar.

“Nice to meet you, Ianto,” George said, a grin spreading across his face as he recognized his friend in this stranger.  Then something twigged.  “Wait.  Was that a Welsh accent?”

Ianto’s smile broadened.  “I’m Welsh, now,” he said.

George blinked, trying to assimilate that.  Then he frowned.  “Did you…  Was…  Was I one of the ones who attacked you?”

Ianto grimaced, but shook his head.  “I had Aurors, Ginny, and my gran try to kill me.  But I had a feeling you would succeed,” he said, though not unkindly.  “I had a letter delivered to you.  Watched from across the street as you read the words that I was alive but cursed and spellbound.  I bled a lot, writing it, but it was my last chance.  I figured if I couldn’t get through to you, then I’d leave.”

“And?” George demanded.

“You tore it up and set it on fire, then went back to work,” Ianto shrugged, trying to look nonchalant, though that had been the final thing to drive him from the wizarding world.  “I left Diagon Alley and never came back.”

“Until today,” Jack stepped up and put an arm around Ianto’s waist.  George raised an eyebrow.  “Captain Jack Harkness,” Jack added helpfully, offering his hand.

George shook Jack’s hand and then looked back at Ianto.  “Where are you headed?”

“Ollivander’s.  I mean, Ollivander and Stone,” Ianto said, gesturing towards the shop in question.

George nodded.  “You look knackered.  If you’d like to stop by the shop for a cuppa when you’re done and take some rest before your next stop, you’re more than welcome.”

“Thank you, that sounds lovely,” Ianto smiled, reaching out and giving George another hug.

Once he was released from Ianto’s embrace, George stared for another moment, grinned, then turned and headed back to his shop. 

***