George leaned over the sink, watching as the water slowly turned red. His stomach twisted with pain and hunger. He hadn't eaten in days. Not since...

"George, honey?" His mother knocked on the door, concern filling her voice. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, mum." He called back, waving his wand over his arms to clean them of blood, but not healing the cuts. He watched blood leak slowly out of the deep cuts again. His tears for his dead brother splattered onto his arm, mixing with the blood and stinging lightly.

"Dinner's on the table, dear." Molly called through the door.

George didn't care about food though; how could he ever eat again? He bent over as a hunger pain shot through him. He was almost too hungry to even look at food. The sent of the food in the kitchen twisted his stomach even more. He dry heaved over the toilet; he couldn't puke with nothing in his stomach.

"I'm not hungry." He lied, pulling down his sleeves and opening the door.

Molly Weasley had also lost a lot of weight, her face looked too narrow. Her thin wrists looked as though they couldn't hold the weight of her hands. She managed a small smile, "Please come eat." She pleaded.

George mustered a tiny smile of his own, "I ate at the store.", he lied.

Molly looked doubtful, grabbing George's large hand in her small one, "Don't starve yourself, he wouldn't want that..." She trailed off at the look on her son's face.

"Well, I didn't want him to die." George retorted, then regretted it when his mother's face crumpled.

Tears spilled down her cheeks; George grabbed her in his arms, ignoring the pain shooting up his arms. "'m sorry mum, I didn't mean to..."

"It's alright, dear." She muttered into his once-broad chest. She pulled away, wiping at the tears on her face, and smiling up at George, who was stooping under the low ceiling. "I'll keep dinner on the stove."

George nodded, but he was no longer paying attention. His thoughts had already turned to that explosion.

He remembered when the breath had knocked out of him when he was blasted back. He blacked out for a moment or two, before stumbling into a standing position and wincing at the burns on his face and shoulder.

He had looked around for Fred, and instead found Percy kneeling on the ground in front of a broken body. George had stumbled towards him, rolling his eyes; of course Percy would feel bad about killing a Death Eater. He walked up to him, his eyes falling first on the red hair, then the long limbed body of his dead brother. George heard a ringing in his one remaining ear. He fell to his knees, and started frantically feeling around for a pulse. When he didn't tears began to stream down his face. Numbly he reached for his brothers hand. George forgot which words he had screamed at his twin, but he would never forget Percy screaming that he was sorry, beating on Fred's chest.

...

George started up the stairs to their-his room. He turned the doorknob, and collapsed onto the bed nearest the door, Fred's bed. He breathed in the familiar sent of his brother; the faint sent of something like gunpowder and something that was just Fred. He felt familiar tears prickle his eyes and a pounding in his lone ear. He wasn't sure whether the anger or sadness was more consuming. The two emotions felt like one, intertwined and too hard to seperate. The anger was more towards himself for not being able to save his brother. But he was also angry at Fred. For leaving him all alone. George didn't know how to be alone.

There was a knock at his door. "You awake?" Ron called through the door, then opened it.

"Yeah?" George inquired dully.

"How are you?" Ron leaned in the doorway.

George chuckled darkly, "Bloody fantastic."

Ron didn't speek for a moment. "That was a dumb question, I know..."

George didn't repsond, but his thoughts swirled darkly; he just wanted to be alone, but being alone wasn't a welcome thing either. He was terrified of it. He already felt alone without his twin.

"Are you ever going to eat?" George had lost a lot of weight in the past weeks. He probably weighted less than Ginny.

"I'm not hungry." George muttered through stabbing hunger pains.

"You're going to fucking kill yourself if you don't eat soon." Ron told him, "And that won't help mum any. With two sons dead."

He paused, "And it wouldn't help any of us either. We can't lose both of you. Who else will make us laugh?" George looked up.

"I mean, Percy's got a stick up his arse, and we haven't got Charlie or Bill around to cheer us up. We need you, mate." Ron tried a smile. George mimicked him, his mouth quirking up at one end. He still didn't get up, or head to the kitchen to eat, but he felt as though he might soon.

Ron left the room, calling over his shoulder as he left, "Oh, and Luna's coming to stay. You'll be sharing your room with her."

George groaned slightly, and looked around the disheveled and disorganized room. He looked at the pile of clothes and books on the bed next to him. The sheets probably hadn't been cleaned in years. His mum probably expected him to tidy up the place.

He sat up in bed and threw off his shirt, examining the scars and newer cuts all up his arms and his stomach and sides. He was still bleeding a little in some places. His blue shirt was completely stained red on the inside. George had the fleeting notion of cutting until he bled out, but then thought of what Ron had said about his mother.

And he wouldn't want to stain the sheets more when they had a guest coming.