New Summary! This story now comes with plot!
A/N: Okay, this is my first shot at a Harry Potter fanfic and I only have vague ideas as to where I am going with this. If you have any suggestions then please feel free to give a shout. This started out as a dare my friend gave me where she was like, "Write an angsty George fic. But do it without using the line, 'It was a wonderful day, but if only it could reflect what was inside him it would be dark, gloomy, and oh so horrible.'"
So I tried. I know the beginning is a little shaky, but please bare with me. I hope to work it out to make it better and then edit a little. But thanks for reading anyway.
Edit: I cleaned it up a bit and I am much happier with it.
It didn't feel like a limb was missing, it didn't feel like his heart had stopped pounding, or even that a little bit of his soul was gone.
It was worse.
A limb wasn't missing, it was his whole torso. And somewhere within that lost mass of muscles and flesh was a little organ that throbbed painfully, plummeting its broken pieces to the bottoms of his frigid feet to the tips of his numb fingers. A little bit of his soul wasn't gone; it was torn viciously in half.
"Oh…God…" his mother's restless sobbing barley filtered through the haze that clouded his usually sharp mind. He…couldn't understand, really, why he couldn't join her. His heart, his mind, his body was breaking straight down the middle and hot, burning lava that grated like sand was slowly filling the gnawing crevice and yet still no likening of tears crept behind his eyes. No inkling of that tickling sensation, no matter how long he pressed the heals of his shaking palms into his eye sockets, dared to creep behind his retinas and spill out.
He supposed that he would have to change the name of their shop. Take off the "s" at the end of the name and all that. And he would have to delay the date for the release of their next project, there was no way he could finish it by himself in so short a time. And what to do with his stuff? He would have to go through it, paper by paper, trinket by trinket to see what to keep and what to throw out. Maybe his mum would help with that.
Though, she might not be in any fit state for that in a while. But he would like to do what he could as soon as he could. Fred's motto after all,"Why do today what you could to tomorrow but since today is yesterday's tomorrow you might as well get it over with on the day before the day that was yesterday's tomorrow's tomorrow."
He supposed, now that Percy was back, he could help him get things in order. He was rather good with a quick-notes quill and after years of pranks with his twin, George had become rather excellent with sticking spells. Between the two of them, even with their mother temporarily out of commission, they could get Fred's stuff packed, labeled, and stored in no time.
"I…" his voice shocked even himself, though it was not loud and cracked unsteadily. But he was resolute, he needed to go take care of these things. Now. The quiet that issued after his broken syllable was defining and he was almost afraid to break it again. Even his mother's sobs had quieted down, "I…think I'll see to the shop now."
George refused to meet anyone's eyes, but simply stood up on shaky legs, looking down at the peaceful face of his almost-sleeping other half. And suddenly, as if somewhere inside the twisty turny neurons that made up his brain a switch had been flipped, he was overflowing with anger. How dare he leave him here all alone. What was he supposed to do? Live without him? He might just as easily have told him to see without eyes.
Enraged, George's fists balled at his sides until his knuckles showed white with the strain and the creaking of two wands, both 6-inch holy with twin cores of dragon's heart string, sounded as they were crushed together in his right hand. Without a second look towards any of his family or the rapidly swelling crowd of happy revelers, George stalked out of the Great Hall and towards the exit of his very own personal hell hole.
He stopped for nothing. His long legs carried him through the mismatched piles of striking red blood, rippling water, and unidentifiable liquids as he all but ran through the entrance hall and out the front doors. He was past Hagrid's hut in no time and the minute he was clear of the boundaries of Hogwarts, he disapparated to his and…his shop in Diagon Alley.
The crash of glass against the wall did nothing to dim the furry that radiated from the very tissues of George's shaking frame. Picking up another unidentifiable item, he hurled it towards the wall of their shop, affectionately examining the broken pieces that resulted from his throw.
Their shop was in ruins. The once neatly stacked piles of jokes and prank boxes were strewn about the floor, the more breakable ones shattered and still where they had been carelessly tossed a moment before. George didn't seem to care. Still enraged at the audacity of his brother to actually die on him like that, he grabbed onto anything he could reach, crashing them against the walls and drinking in the sounds they made as they were broken beyond all recognition.
He reached for the next object that would dare to be whole while he was anything but, when his hand encountered empty air. He stared at his gaping hand, brain slowly comprehending that there was nothing left for him to break.
There. Was. Nothing. Left.
It was like a physical blow to the chest. One minute there was air in his body, and the next he was gasping, hands going to his chest over his heart, clawing at it, trying to peal back the skin and remove the organ that seemed to have suddenly burst within itself and flooded his entire being with the utmost sense of agony. He dropped to his knees, never minding the glass and bits that punctured his skin, and slowly fell over, one hand reaching out and catching his upper body so that he lay in a crouched position over the broken remnants of objects that he had once been so proud of. His right hand continued to twist in his cloak, his nails digging into the fabric above where his heart beat erratically, shoving its broken pieces into his blood stream and sending them into his shaking limbs and throbbing eyes with every uneven thrust.
And then it was like his body was overflowing as he gasped in painful oxygen a second later, sorrow and pain exploding though his body until it overflowed from his eyes as his right had continued to tighten against the pain in his chest. It was only as the first drop passed down his face to drip between his hands that he realized he was finally crying.
There it was, and I hope you enjoyed it. Thank you so much for reading and please feel free to review and tell me what you think. As long as you don't flame. Please don't flame.