Title : The Betrayal

Character(s): George. W

Summary: Fred's dead - George reacts. One-shot George-centric.

Warning: rated 'T' due to references to sucide.

Notes: This is rather depressing, I know, but it's something I seem to be very good at... Hope you like, reviews are appreciated and take care now!


Was George meant to feel this numb - this empty? Was he normal to try every reckless thing he could think of just to feel something? Anything?

Often he would be holed up on his room at the burrow, brooding on the loss Of his twin, wondering how to get rid of his lingeridisrepair, or to at leastcon real it from worried eyes.

George realised what it meant to be fragile - but he wasn't the slightest bit fragile, he was broken into tiny pieces. These pieces seemed to bring him anguish whenever he tried to place them back together.

George wondered what it was like to die - sometimes - but that would be the cowards way out, wouldn't it? After all he was a Griffindor wasn't he? And anyway the Weasley sonknow what would happen if he did commit suicide,

"Never was strong-willed that son of yours Molly, took his own life because he lost the person he relied on. Not a big enough reason really." they'd say, as they looked down at his run down shabby coffin.

However, George needed something, he needed something to make him feel alive - like how a murderer needed to kill.

They we all crazy and manic like George in some sense, wanting to do the thing in the back of their head, no matter what consequences their actions may endure.

As he looked out of his bedroom window in the burrow, checking whether his parents were occupied with the garden, George felt salty tears trickle down his cheeks. His parents wouldn't bbother wrong him for a while.

...How foolish of them...

Rushing dowstraits into the bright kitchen, George grabbed his wand from the drawers, blinking away his tears, before rushing back up to his room.

He had been wondering for too long - he just had to do it. It wouldn't be hard to kill himself,would it? People commuted suicide everyday - and anyway, he'd be with Fred.

George pretended that his wand was a paint brush, and his arm the canvas. He pretended that he was an artist who kept applying stroke after stroke onto his canvas - each spell slitting further into his skin. He went to his next canvas next - once he had finished his painting.

George mutilated both of his arms, breathing in quickly as he gasped from the pain.

When finally he dropped his wand on the ground, he looked around at the Scarlett coloured carpet. How could someone so tiny and empty inside contain so much blood in his body?

The pain left George's side after a while, leave him numb. His blood trickled out of his wounds in copious amounts - he really was empty inside.

He no longer felt a thing - not when he escaped into darkness, nor when everything in his body came to a halt.

Had George been able to think a single thought, he wouldn't have felt guilty at all. He wouldn't be guilty for betraying his parents trust, his family's or his friends.

After all, they had betrayed Him first.

{They had said everything would be alright}