The House Competition:
House: Slytherin
Category: Drabble
Prompt: Anxiety
Word count: 550 approx
After the Battle of Hogwarts, most of the Weasleys returned to their normal lives. Arthur and Percy went back to the Ministry, Charlie to Romania, Bill and Fleur to the Shell Cottage, and Ron and Ginny to Hogwarts to finish their schooling. There was one Weasley, however, who didn't return to his prior life.
It was none other than George Weasley. While the others continued living their lives as if nothing had changed, he couldn't. He just couldn't. After the loss of his brother, his twin, his best friend throughout his whole life, it was impossible to act as though nothing had changed.
For a while, he tried to move on with his life, but he just couldn't. He'd try to laugh, to joke around like before, but then he'd remember Fred and he'd have to return to his room, where he'd mourn the loss of his other half. Although he did help out with housework a lot and busied himself with gardening and other little tasks, he couldn't forget what had happened.
Most people had moved on, but that wasn't the case for him.
When he was told to do something, he did it without a fight, which worried Molly. She told him to rest, but he wouldn't. Everything he did reminded him about Fred. From birthday parties to washing the dishes, it was impossible to escape memories of his twin brother.
"George, George, George," Fred laughed, walking into the kitchen, where a scowling George was scrubbing the dishes. "Dear Georgie, what's wrong?"
"What do you want?" George snapped, whipping around to face his brother. "If you've come to rub in how I lost the bet, shut up and leave," he told him, referring to the bet they had earlier. Fred had been right about Ron's crush on Hermione, which resulted in George washing the dishes for a month.
Fred only grinned. "Someone's upset," he remarked. George ignored him. "Oh come on, I'm just joking. I'll tell you what, you could use some help...and well, I, being the kind person that I am, might just offer my assistance."
George glared at him. "Alright, shut up you git and help me!"
Fred smirked. "You could always use magic, you know, dumbass,"
George felt like smacking his face. Of course…
George couldn't even laugh at a joke anymore because it reminded him of his late brother. He felt like a part of him had been ripped out, leaving a hole in his heart which could never be mended.
The memories of Fred were always heartbreaking, and they haunted George. Nightmares, flashbacks, they were enough to drive him mad. He shot up in bed at night, drenched from head to toe with sweat, his eyes red, almost gasping for breath as he tried to calm himself.
Everyone was anxious for him, worried. They were all mourning Fred's death, but George's condition was worse than anyone else's. They were scared, scared that something might happen to him.
George himself didn't know what was happening to him, but he was too depressed to actually care about his health. He skipped meals, became tired and angry, but underneath all the fury, he was breaking.
He was torn apart. He was shattered inside, defeated. He was done with everything and with the world.