This is purely my head cannon. If you wish to use this concept then please credit me and tell me because I would love to read it.
Ok formality's over. Enjoy
We all have secrets, some more dark then others, but we all do. We keep them hidden, out of sight in our hearts, out of fear. Fear of what others will think of us. Fear of how it will change their perception of us. Fear that we will lose them. Yes, we all have secrets. Even the Weasley family, so open and honest, had secrets. The deepest and darkest of them was held tightly to the heart of one George Weasley. Or was it George? The ginger family always did have trouble telling those twins apart. The war left them all in a shudder. The death of one of their own was heart breaking. But was he dead? Like I said, George Weasley had a secret.
~
The war was over. Family's where grieving. The dead lay in a line in the centre of the room, skin a pale colour and eyes closed out of respect. A family with red hair wept over the body of their lost twin. But the other was nowhere to be seen.
He hid in the rubble packed halls, tears in his blue eyes and wand twisting in his shaking hands. He couldn't look at his twins face. It had been crushed by the walls that had fallen on him and the right side had been burnt to a crisp by the curse that was thrown his way. It was still uncertain if it was the wall or the curse that killed him.
He'd never imagined life without his twin. He'd always just...been there. They were one and the same. One person split into two bodies. He was closer to no one emotionally or spirally.
Blood dripped down his cheek and neck from the freshly cut hole on his left side. It stung, god how it stung, but he had to do it. If not for himself or his twin, but for his family. He looked down at the bloodily flesh that lay in a puddle of crimson at his feet. The puddle had started to clot. It made his stomach clench.
He heard his name called. The broken voice of his mother travelled easily against the stone walls. He was quick to react, cleaning himself up with a hankie and placing rubble over his crimson puddle. He pulled a long white bandage from his pocket and wrapped it around his head. He tucks his wand into his belt and composed himself before walking around the corner to find his mother who sighed with relief and embraced him in a hug.
"Aw my son, my beautiful son" tears glinted in her eyes. She placed a hand on his cheek and brushed a stray lock from his forehead, tucking it into his bandage "at least I've still got you, George" his throat suddenly felt tight.
"Yeah" his voice was small "you've still got me"