Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and will never make any money out of this WHATSOEVER!

A/N: After the War the Weasley family are reeling from Fred's death, from the point of view of George, Ron and Percy – following the twists and turns of their life as they learn to live without. NOT SLASH! Rated M for some explicit language and dark themes. Will contain references to self-harm and suicide, so could be triggering. Keep yourself safe and I hope you enjoy :)

This Chapter is in George's POV.

'Fred's dead. Fred's gone. He's never coming back. It's all my fault. Fred's dead. Fred's gone. He's never coming back. It's all my fault…' The relentless circle of thoughts hadn't stopped since the war had ended. 'Fred's dead. Fred's gone. He's never coming back. It's all my fault…'

The bright white light was burning through my closed eyelids. There was no chance of me going back to sleep, not with the amount of artificial and sun light that were illuminating the ward all around me, but the longer I kept my eyes closed the longer they thought I was still sleep… I couldn't keep up the act all day unfortunately… There'd come a point where I would have to open my eyes and interact with people – I was determined to put it off for as long as I possibly could though. Yet pretending to be asleep couldn't dull the constant circle of thoughts repeating inside my head from the moment my mind's consciousness wakes up: 'Fred's dead. Fred's gone. He's never coming back. It's all my fault.' I sincerely hoped that those thoughts would stop looping themselves in my head at some point, preferably soon – the more I tried to ignore them, the louder they seemed to shout. The louder they shouted, the more I believed them, and the more horrifically guilty I felt about Fred dying. I twitched my arms under the covers of the bed; they were still heavily bandaged, I shouldn't expect myself to heal so quickly. Not that I had intended, not as I had planned. And now I was stuck in a place I didn't want to be – in a life I didn't want to be living…

What a failure I was! That became clear as I lay with my eyes closed, feigning sleep – my life had been one monumental failure. I had failed to see the truth when it was staring right at me, I had been willing to ditch my family and chase after a promotion, my ambition had overcome what was important. I had told them I didn't want to be a Weasley – I had told them they were poor because they followed and believed people like Dumbledore rather than accepting the truth of the ministry… and I had believed it – all until the Death Eaters took over. I had to re-evaluate what was the truth, and come to the conclusion that I had been the one who was wrong for all that time. I had gone back to fight with them, to say I was sorry and hope that they'd accept me back – I could hardly believe it when they accepted me back. Then Fred died. I knew from the moment that the wall had blown apart that it was supposed to be me that was killed – Fred just got caught in the crossfire. He wasn't meant to go, I was – I was the traitor.

"Percy." Healer Tabslett's voice came from nearby my bed. "Percy I know you're awake." How the hell did he know I was awake? I opened one of my eyes a fraction of an inch; I could see vaguely that he was standing at the end of my bed. I reckoned he must have seen my eyelids flickering because he shifted slightly and leant on the rail at the end of my bed. "You can pretend to be asleep for as long as you want, but that's not going to stop me talking to you." I felt like sighing, but I didn't – I reluctantly opened my eyes and moved carefully, sitting up in my bed. "Would you like some breakfast?" He asked, I was staring at the spot where my feet were creating a lump in my bed covers and shrugged. "Right – I'll get something for you." The urge I was feeling to swear explicitly faded only slightly as he walked away from the end of my bed. He returned quickly carrying a tray – I could see that the only other inhabitant of the ward I was in had a tray of food propped in front of him. The other two beds in the ward were vacant, and had been since I arrived in the ward. Toast, three little pots of butter, jam and marmalade, a small bowl of milk and cereal, a glass of orange juice and a mug of tea.

"I'm not hungry." I stated very clearly. "Will you take the tray away?" I looked up at Healer Tabslett, who had an unusually stern look on his face. "Please." He didn't even reply to me, he just turned and walked away, leaving the tray with me.

Pulling my arms out from underneath the bed covers I examined my bandaged forearms. My hands were hard to move because the bandages were so stiffly wrapped around my arms. I fiddled with the food on the tray, but not eating it.

'Fred's dead. Fred's gone. He's never coming back. It's all my fault.' I fingered the toast, listening to the circle of thoughts and staring blankly at the rail at the foot of my bed. Until someone broke my internal daydreaming;

"There's a letter for you." Healer Tabslett was back, holding a ruffled piece of parchment in his hand which was extended out in offering for me. "An owl came this morning." He explained as I stared at the piece of parchment, eventually I reached out and took it. "Are you going to eat any of that?" He pointed at the tray now as my hands fell into my lap with the bit of parchment held in between them. I shook my head, I heard him sigh. "I can't let you stop eating altogether Percy; if you continue to refuse food then we'll end up doing something about that too. I get the impression that you're an intelligent guy Percy – if only you'd tell us what's making you act so stupid." He picked up the tray and left; I stared after him, his last words suddenly drowning out the circle of thoughts.

'If only you'd tell us what's making you act so stupid.' I didn't know whether I felt more angry, or like I wanted to cry… I wasn't acting stupid – I was acting completely logically given the circumstances.

After a few minutes I remembered the parchment in my hands and turned it over to unseal it. There were only two lines on the whole of the bit of parchment;

'Ron told me what you did. I really hope you're okay. George.'

I felt as though I had just had been drenched in freezing cold liquid – my stomach and insides encased in frozen liquid nitrogen. It was unbearable; the agony that ripped through my nerves, tearing at the fibres of my muscles and bones – it felt like the cruciatus curse had been cast over me. It was all I could do not to howl out in anguish that was coursing through me. Hot tears were stinging at the back of my eyes, I was resisting the urge to crumple up the piece of parchment; instead I dropped it onto the bed covered my face with my hands. I couldn't suppress the pain that I was feeling for any longer, I felt the hot wet tears splashing onto my hands and fingers.

I couldn't understand – I couldn't comprehend how George could have written that note! Why didn't George hate me? I had been the one left in place of his twin – I could've taken his fury, I would have received his hatred gladly… Maybe then my feelings of self-loathing would be justified. How was it possible for George not to hate me, like I hated myself?

A/N: I am SO sorry that this has taken me so long to update- uni work, being ill and a whole load of other things have kept me on my toes…. I'll promise to update the next chapter quicker! :)