Rain fell in a light curtain, gently enveloping the mourning like the consoling touch of a mother towards a child. The wind tousled the leaves of the trees that were scattered all around the backyard and caused them to fall like confetti. All was quiet, except for the rustle of the leaves, the soft pitter-patter of the rain and the grunt of exertion as three young men dug a rectangular pit.
Ron pushed his wet hair out of his red-rimmed eyes as he glanced furtively at his two older brothers. Both Percy and Charlie were wearing blank expressions but their eyes glimmered with tears as they worked. Ron sighed as he plunged the old shovel into the ground yet again.
A group of five people looked on, silent tears cascading down their cheeks, visible even in the rain. It had been one day. One day, since the terrible war that sent hundreds to premature deaths. 24 hours since the war that sacrificed many brave warriors just to bring down one crazed madman. 1440 minutes since the Weasley's lost a son. 86400 seconds since George Weasley wished he had gone the way of his twin.
Back in the kitchen, George was content to just sit at the doorway and allow himself to be swept away by the tsunami of grief although content was an emotion he knew he would never feel again. He stared at the deep pit that his brothers were digging while studiously ignoring the wooden coffin that was under a tent next to it. Denial was the first thing that sprang to his mind when he first laid eyes on the cold and lifeless body of his twin, his final laugh still eerily etched on his face. For a few minutes that could have been forever, George stared and refused to believe. Then, a growing sense of grief and pure horror threatened to overwhelm him as his world shattered right before his eyes.
A soft 'no' escaped his lips as, with gargantuan effort, he turned away. He staggered blindly out of the Great Hall as his family tried to stop him, but all he heard was his thoughts which were suddenly too loud and too unbearable. He ran, with no particular goal in mind, letting his legs carry him wherever they wanted to go. He ran until every muscle in his legs burned and he reveled in the feeling, anything to take him away from the growing pain of losing the most important person in his life. He ran until his legs didn't feel like legs and his mind was a churning mass of pain and fatigue.
George was roughly pulled out of his thoughts as he felt his father's hand on his shoulder.
"Sorry," George muttered faintly as he hoisted himself off the ground. Keeping his eyes averted to the ground, he walked out of the kitchen that had felt claustrophobic all of a sudden. He found his way mechanically up the stairs and into his shared bedroom before he knew what he was doing. It was a mistake, as scenarios assaulted him with the ferocity of a wayward bludger.
He suddenly envisioned himself alone on a Quidditch pitch, a Beater's bat hanging limply and uselessly in his fingers as a dozen bludgers attacked him from all angles.
He saw himself running the Weasley Wizard Wheezes in Diagon Alley alone while it thrived, thronging with customers on a busy summer's day.
He saw himself inventing things and taking notes alone.
He saw himself going home to a quiet, empty house, eating alone by a small fire.
The stark reminder that Fred was gone crushed him as realisation finally dawned. He collapsed to his knees and buried his head in his hands as he finally gave himself away to the torrent of tears that his family had experienced but he had not been able to conjure. He screamed himself hoarse at the unfairness of it all and he railed at whatever entity that allowed this to happen. He cried for his lost brother as much as he cried for losing him.
Time came to a standstill as he broke down. A chasm opened up within him as a swirling grief poured out of it and in return, anger at whoever who stole his brother filled it. Magic crackled in the air as he drew his wand and blasted the window panes out of their frame. Several screams rent the air and hurried footsteps pounded up the stairs but George didn't care. Furiously, he blasted the furniture but kept a wide berth around Fred's bed. The footsteps stopped outside his door. George sighed. The anger had abated and all that was left was the same hollow numbness as before.
The world had changed and George Weasley changed with it.
A/N: Thank you to gondegoogoo for helping me with the small details that I forgot. I was listening to New Divide by Linkin Park when I was writing this and I got a sense of the emotions and stuff from there. Hope you enjoyed it.