George Weasley sat at the kitchen bench watching his father chop carrots.

"George?" Arthur Weasley asked his son. "Would you fetch the good cutlery from the attic?"

George didn't speak.

In fact, he hadn't spoken since the War had ended.

"Very well." Arthur sighed, putting the knife down and leaving the kitchen.

Fred had meant the world to George.

How was George meant to move forward now? How could his life get any better after this?

George looked over at the kitchen knife. He reached out and wavered his hand over the handle for a few seconds, but quickly curled his arm back towards his body.

Temptation, George thought. Nothing more.

The temptation to do something drastic to see someone he loved. George would do anything to see Fred again.

Anything.

George's hand reached for the knife again, and this time, he grasped it tightly. He lifted the knife up in front of his face an examined it carefully.

It certainly was very sharp.

"Is that what I think it is?" Arthur questioned calmly, as he appeared in the doorway.

The hand holding the knife began shaking as George brought the knife closer to his throat.

"Is that what I think it is?" Arthur yelled more urgently.

The twin closed his eyes and tried to block out his father's voice.

"GEORGE!" His father screamed.

His eyes opened and he turned to his father.

"George." He repeated again firmly, his eyes wide with concern. "Fred would not want this. We—we can't lose..." Arthur words got caught in his throat as tears began expelling from his eyes. "WE CAN'T LOSE YOU TOO!" Arthur's voice bellowed.

George's hand shook even more erratically as sweat trickled down his face.

Ron and Ginny appeared at the door, their faces puzzled and distressed. The loud screams had echoed through the whole home. Another moment passed and a very distraught Molly had also appeared.

George looked into his mother's eyes and saw everything that was so familiar.

The sorrow, the guilt, the grief.

He knew those feelings well.

Knife still in hand, George stepped towards his mother and mouthed the word sorry.

Arthur pulled out his wand quickly but it was left useless.

George had already dropped the knife and fell to the floor weeping.

"Help me."He pleaded quietly to his family. "Help me."


Written for the '52 Weeks of Writing 2013 Competition'.

Prompts used: Grief, 'Is that what I think it is?'

Optional prompts used: Depression, useless.