We all have that one person. That single person in the whole of creation upon whom we can rely. The one we shared are deepest fears and darkest secrets. When we lose that person it is a visceral, crippling thing. A hole where once resided a place of safety. A hole that can never be filled and can never be healed. Once such hole was left within George. Fred had been that one person with which everything was shared. His other half. His twin. His person.
Fred's death had effected George the most, hit him the hardest. Not even their mother, who had carried them both inside her own body, cold understand the depth of the wound Fred's passing had left in the remaining Weasley twin. George no longer felt complete. Every sentence was left unfinished and every joke left untold. Half of him had died and he no longer knew how to function, he was half of a whole, not a whole on his own. He was not made that way.
They had shared a womb. They had shared a life. They had shared all that they were. They shared their first breath. George wished with every breath he took that he had taken his last on that day as well. Each breath since Fred's death felt wrong somehow, as though the very air entering his lungs had been contaminated in some way.
The broken red head had No words to describe his pain, nothing seemed able to capture the agony he felt that seemed to grow with each passing moment.
As days grew into weeks that pain seemed only to deepen, morphing and turning inward. Grief turned to hate and the pain of loss turned into the desire for death.
There is only so much one person can handle, everyone has their threshold and once that is crossed there is no going back.
The Weasley family had lost one son on the battlefield and his other half followed not four months later. Though it should be said that both died that day, it just took a little longer for the second to go to ground.
Sometimes no amount of love can replace that which has been lost. No amount of support can hold someone together if they are incapable of being whole.
