Author's Note: This is the original version of "Orion's Squirrel." Please review and tell me what I can do to make it darker and more real. This is my first attempt at dark fanfiction.
George hadn't smiled since Fred's death. Not even once. More than a year had passed, yet George was still mourning for his twin. This took its toll on the rest of the family; Fred and George, mischievous spirits that they were, used to be the source of light and laughter in the Weasley household. Granted, the other Weasley children, but for Percy, did their fair share, but Fred and George had truly been the family comedians.
Now, however, things had changed. Fred was gone; George was deeply depressed. He hadn't been to work since the Battle of Hogwarts; the shop had a saddening sign on the front that read "Closed until Further Notice." Passing children would always look sadly upon this sign, wondering what had happened.
George sat by his twin's grave in the Weasleys' yard. He couldn't take it any longer, couldn't survive without his brother and best friend. His family didn't need him, for all he was doing was making them all depressed. They had moved on; he had not. Fat lot of good I'm doing everyone, he thought. Might as well just go and – hey, that's an idea. George was that desperate to be gone, gone from this world, gone forever.
That night, he went to the bottom of Stoatshead Hill, to the side facing away from the town of Ottery St. Catchpole. No one would ever find him there, have to know the gruesome thing he was about to do. George hadn't the will to live any longer, had no motivation, no laughter. He laid down in a dreamlike state, placed the point of his wand to his heart, and whispered the curse.
"Avada Kedavra."
Green light filled his vision and then it was all gone. Everything had disappeared. George felt joyful, happier than he had been ever since that fateful day: May 2, 1998. He sat up.
"Fred?" he called. "Fred, I've come here to be with you."
Nobody answered. It was silent. Then, demons filled his vision. They taunted him, they tortured him worse than Fred's death ever had. They screamed, they punished him. Those who take away their most precious gift, the gift of life, cannot have a happy ending. They burn, they are incinerated in the fiery pits of the Underworld.
The next morning, Molly walked into Fred and George's old room, where George had been staying, to wake him up for breakfast. His bed was empty. She ran downstairs to look at her clock and saw that George's hand had fallen off onto the floor, as Fred's had.
"Oh, George," she moaned and sank to the floor, weeping.
Arthur, having heard his wife's cries, rushed down the stairs.
"What is it? What's wrong?" Then, he looked down and fainted dead away.
Mr. and Mrs. Weasley never recovered. They both had to be placed in St. Mungo's, for they had lost their minds entirely. Two sons gone. Arthur and Molly died shortly after hospitalization, having not been able to stand losing two children, despite having plenty to spare. Tears were shed, funerals were held, and the Weasleys could never be the same again.
