Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and will never make any money out of this WHATSOEVER!
A/N: After the War the Weasley family are reeling from Fred's death, from the point of view of George, Ron and Percy – following the twists and turns of their life as they learn to live without. NOT SLASH! Rated M for some explicit language and dark themes. Will contain references to self-harm and suicide, so could be triggering. Keep yourself safe and I hope you enjoy :)
This Chapter is in George's POV.

Zzzt- zzzzt!

A fly was caught in between the two panes of glass in the window next to me, my eyes followed it's unsuccessful progress; it was slightly out of focus as I was positioned only a couple of inches away from it. I was trying to figure out how the fly had managed to get in there – I thought that the two sheets of glass were fixed together. I wondered whether that fly had been trapped in there since those windows had been fitted… it must have been there an awful long time. I had never spotted it before, trapped within the panes. But there was a logistically sound reason for why I had never noticed it before; I was never usually near this window – this wasn't my side.

I stared past the fly still battering itself in between the glass and out into the sky. The grey rainclouds were hanging heavily, as though they were full of lead. The rain was coming – it had been threatening for the past couple of hours; it was no surprise, it had been raining for days – weeks… The clouds had gathered even more since I took up my position sitting on this bed, gazing at the world outside. Those leaden grey rainclouds that would melt into pitch-black, soul despairing nights like they had been doing recently; somehow they were both cold, disconnected. At least the weather understood how I was feeling…

Bang, bang, bang, bang, BANG!

"George!" I felt my whole body twitch as my brain awoke extremely suddenly; for a second I felt as though I was falling through the air into space, and my arms and legs contracted and gripped onto the edge of the bed I was laying on. I pushed myself up, the sky outside the window was getting dark; the last few rays of light were still persisting, but darkness would soon win the fight for the sky. Hours must have passed; I must have fallen asleep without realising. Asleep on his bed, without him being here; and it wasn't him banging on the door now…

"George, open the bloody door!" There was another barrage of pounding upon the door, of which I took no notice. I knew that it was Ron trying to knock my door down, but I didn't want to see or speak to him, or anyone else. "I'm not going away until I've spoken to you properly." Ron called through the door as though he had read my mind; but that was what Bill had said, and mum too – and both of them gave up in the end.

I smoothed out the covers of the duvet which had sustained several creases from me lying on top of it – if only I could straighten it all out, take it all back to the time when he had been here. Ron knocked on the door continuously as I ran my hands over the covers; suddenly feeling like cold liquid had filled me up, turning my fingers, arms and legs into immoveable ice cubes.

"George… come on, let me in. At least let me come in for a cup of tea, then I'll leave you alone if you want." I tried to ignore him, my head filling with an imperceptible buzzing as I tried to block out the sound of Ron's knocking.

Ron, however, had a lot more staying power than Bill or my mum had, it appeared… Nearly three quarters of an hour later he was still calling through the door and knocking in a kind of rhythmic beat. I stood at the door to the small flat – it hadn't ever been much, but right above the shop it had been extremely handy for the both of us… and it had been ours. I rested silently against the front door where Ron was still knocking, wishing he would just go away… or considering whether it would be worth it to let him in, give him a cup of tea like he was requesting, and then telling him to piss off and leave me be… My hand was rested loosely on the door handle, still considering what to do.

"Georgie…" My heart convulsed inside me at the sound of that word and I wrenched the door open so fast that Ron, who had been sat with his back against the door, fell backwards so he was staring up at me.

"Don't call me that!" I had wanted the words to come out angry, I wanted them to be a snarl, to match the anger that was suddenly pounding through me; but my voice had not been used in so long that it cracked with emotion – it just sounded weak and thin. Ron scrambled ungainly to his feet as I turned away and paced down the room, towards the window with the fly. Ron didn't speak gain, I heard no sound at all as I stood glaring out at the evening sky. When I turned around I felt a jolt of surprise, Ron had remained standing on the threshold of the door; he hadn't just waltzed in uninvited. He was waiting to be invited in, looking at me with a mixture of pity, disgust and some kind of determination on his face – I knew fine well that I looked a right state. I hadn't changed these clothes in two or three days, I couldn't remember the last time I had a shower… I couldn't remember the last time any of the normal ideas about washing and changing clothes had crossed my mind… Those sorts of things didn't matter anymore.

"Well?" I shot at Ron, who was still standing as though paralysed at the door of my flat. "You're the one who's been hammering at my door for the past hour! Aren't you even going to come in after bothering me for that long?" I tutted and spun back round to stare out of the window; the lock of the door clicked and there was a long silence. Why had Ron come to see me? I had told mum that I didn't want to see anyone for a while. Maybe I should have been more specific about how long "a while" was – forever!

"I'll make you a cup of tea then." I said finally, without turning to look at Ron. I moved to the small kitchen, which was just on the right out of the large room that we used as the bedroom, and began to make tea. I fished out two clean looking cups, and proceeded to boil the kettle. The milk in the fridge was off, it had curdled into yellow-ish blobs within the carton – Ron would have to forgo having milk in his tea. Maybe the lack of milk would make him leave quicker… I could but hope. I carried the cups back to where Ron was still standing, looking awkward, I handed one to him;

"My milk's off, so you'll have to go without." I explained coarsely, holding my cup and leaning against the door frame; I avoided Ron's gaze for the next couple of minutes. I stared into the oddly grey liquid within my cup – maybe the tea was off too – maybe it was my effect on everything around me, I was making the world turn bitter. I waited for Ron to speak, trying to brush aside the knowledge of the sour world I was inhabiting.

"You look like hell." Ron stated plainly, I grunted in a kind of half-aware way; I was hoping that Ron would get the hint and leave me alone. "Mum sent me."

'I told her to leave me alone.' I thought exasperatedly, rolling my eyes to myself.

"I told her I didn't want to see anyone." I retorted waspishly, "I was very clear about it – why didn't she listen to me?" I scowled at Ron; if she had sent him then he should know that he hadn't been welcome.

"She's worried about you." Ron answered calmly, now he wasn't looking at me, but staring down into his own cup.

"Completely unjustifiably." I muttered under my breath, "I can't see why you all have to butt in all the time…" I grumbled, I was sure that Ron had heard me, but he didn't reply to my complaint.

"Verity sent us an owl last week." Ron told me, "She was asking when the shop is going to open again." A new twang of pain pitched in my stomach, and my heart suddenly felt like it was in an iron vice – I didn't want to think about the shop; I could sell it… yeah, I might do that.

"Hmmch." I made a disconsolate noise in my throat, trying to indicate my lack of interest in the current conversation. I looked down at my bare feet, they were incredibly dirty – there were black streaks of dust covering the top of my feet.

"George… we are worried about you. I just want you to know that; and I'll tell you, I'll piss off and leave you alone for as long as you want if you answer me a few things – just so I can put mum and dad's minds' at ease." Ron started slowly, placing the cup of half-drunk tea down on the floorboard at his feet; I stared at him, thinking whether answering his questions would be worth it to make him leave quicker.

"Okay." I grunted, crossing one arm across my chest tightly.

"When was the last time you slept?" Ron asked.

"You bloody woke me up trying to batter my door down!" I answered hotly.

"When did you last eat?" Ron didn't say anything about my fierce answer to his first question, but just carried on. I didn't say anything, wracking my mind for when exactly I had eaten something… all the days seemed to merge into one another…

"I… I can't remember. I've not been hungry." I eventually told him, Ron sighed quietly.

"There's one more question I have to ask you, but I doubt you're going to like me very much when I do." Ron said slowly, I said nothing and did not move while waiting for the last question. "You… You haven't-" He seemed to be struggling to get the words in order in his brain and to make them sound alright. "You haven't tried to… to kill yourself, or anything like that?" I goggled at him.

"What the hell?" I spat, my face contracting into a frown in confusion. "What sort of a question is that?"

"George, just answer me." Ron commanded firmly.

"No!" I shouted, annoyed that he had even asked me that question. "No! Why would I be that stupid? How could you-"

"Percy was." He cut over me, but very quietly; I fell silent as though I had been struck dumb.

"Wh…what?" My heart was being squeezed so tight in the vice in my chest that I thought it might stop.

"Percy… tried to kill himself…" Ron mumbled to the floor, sounding miserable. "Dad found him, took him to St. Mungos."

"Shit…" I whispered, feeling every breath catch in my throat. "Shit!"

"Yeah…" My stomach was now flipping over inside me, guilt was flooding into my vein and I didn't quite understand why. "I thought once the war was over that things would get better… I thought that once Voldemort was gone that we would all be able to go back to normal… look how wrong I was…" Ron sighed again, then looked up at me, directly into my eyes and his voice was thicker with emotion. "But for what little it's worth, I know Fred would be pleased with you… He'd want you to carry on with your life…"

I was shaking from head to foot, I couldn't tell whether it was from rage, or grief.

"Out." I choked, my voice cracking again.

"What…?" Ron started to question, but whatever the emotion that was coursing through me, it took over very quickly.

"Get out! Out! NOW!" I seized my cup of lukewarm tea and flung it as hard as I could at Ron, who swore in reply and leapt up off my bed where he had perched himself. "OUT!" I screamed, advancing towards him as he bolted towards the door to my flat, copping up his cup from the floor and lobbing it after him. It smashed into a thousand tiny pieces of white china, sending tea showering all over the floor. Ron was obviously standing just outside the door, he called through it;

"I'm sorry George. I'll be back some other time."

"Don't fucking bother! Fuck off and leave me alone!" I screamed through the door, but my voice was already not as strong with anger, upset was permeating it. I banged my head hard against the door which I had just thrown the cup at.

"I'm sorry." Ron repeated through the door; I clamped my mouth shut as tightly as I could to suppress the sob that was bubbling up from inside me.

A/N: I hope you've made it to the end of the first chapter! :) Thank you very much if you have! I'll post the next chapter VERY soon. I'm not going to beg for reviews, but I'd be really grateful if you'd leave some comments just letting me know what you think :)