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Broken Half	By : muteandtremorless Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 1163 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Broken Half
- 2-2. Pulling Hair
- 1
- 2
Title: Pulling Hair

Summary: Fred dies in an accident while they were setting up a prank, George finds solace in his older but brainier brother (slash, incest, death, George's POV)[chapter 2, complete].

Note: I tried to write this with a more adolescent thought pattern, also I tried to write it following the way George might speak or think, as it just seemed to fit the character.

Warnings: None
Pulling Hair
I ran until things started to hurt and blur, until the sweat ran into my eyes, and I just wanted to claw all my flesh away. When the air finally left my lungs for good I sat down underneath a bush. I only wanted to sit a minute but my body felt so heavy that I had to lay down. And then I fell asleep again.

My dream was black and deep. The sick heavy deep that makes you squirm and twitch. At first it was just nothing. The dark, frozen nothing that comes with snow in the night. Then it was me on the ground, with my body and my arms twisted and wrong. I'd fallen. I'd slipped.

"George." Fred was shaking me, calling my name, but I wasn't dead, and I wanted to tell him that. All too soon though Dumbledore lifted me up and carried me away. With my motionless eyes I kept trying to see Fred. It seemed so very important to see him.

I woke up screaming, and shaking and crying. All those terrible things that happen to people on sad and panicky occasions. My body grew so painful and murderous with all the raw churning emotions that my stomach lifted and acid rose to the back of my throat. I threw up at least seven times, but it was only spit and emptiness, it still made my chest burn. I just wanted Fred, I kept expecting him to pop out of the bushes, for his hand to be on my back as I retched and retched. I wanted him smile at me, whisper something reassuring, but there was nothing. Nothing at all. I was alone now. Alone forever.

I was calm for a little while, I remember staring up at the sky watching the white fade into the blue. Looking around me, seeing the birds, acknowledging the surrealism of the world. Fred for one second evaporated.

But then something as stupid as a falling leaf forced him and all things him back inside. He wasn't alive anymore he was dead. I started screaming.

Screaming like I wasn't going to accept it. Screaming so hard and long that my vocal chords stretched themselves to a whisper shriek, before starting again. Loud and pained. It wasn't helping. Listening to my voice echo off the trees, echo off the world, only made loneliness rip me from its teeth.

I started bawling then, just plain out crying. People when they really cry, they look so ugly, so very ugly. If you ever watch little kids cry their mouths get really large and they frown, their lips expand. Their eyes squinch, their face turns an undesirable shade of red. That's what I did. I cried like a baby, like a baby who suddenly realizes what the world is all about; that it is truly the most horrid and enjoyable thing.

Fred and me, we always wanted to see people laugh. We never talked about it much we didn't need to. That's what we were all about. Our parents after the first few severe pranks were never that mad. Their eyes would crinkle over with silent laughter as the reprimanded us; it was easy to tell that secretly they found it as funny as we did.

I hate crying, because every time you cry you're not laughing. By then Fred would have been telling all sorts of dumb jokes or even performing small pranks on unsuspecting people to make me laugh. I couldn't though, I just kept crying.

It must have gone on for hours because at some point in time I didn't even know why I was crying. The only thing that registered inside was the fact that my chest still ached like it wanted to smother my heart and cease my breath.

Finally I stopped though. I couldn't move right away, my body didn't want to move. It hurt and it didn't care. My chest was so heavy that it took me at least three minutes to stand up. When I finally did I knew where I had to go. My feet stumbled and tripped over themselves, but they knew the way, they were going home.
Almost everyone was asleep when I got inside. Those who weren't I avoided and once I barricaded myself inside the room I fell asleep, but this sleep was a different sleep. Not the drugged sleep of my past few days at Hogwarts, not the traumatizing sleep that floated in on the wings of my dreams, only sleep itself.

When I awoke Ginny was holding a tray with a piece of toast and some juice seated hazardously upon it. She was already wearing a black dress. I smiled at her weakly.

"Hey."

"Hi." She had such tired eyes and such a small distant voice. I took the tray out of her hands.

"Thanks." She turned to go but stopped when I called out her name. "Do you remember when you were little and cried and Fred and I would horse around until you laughed?" A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

"Yeah." I managed a smile for her, a full broad smile. Her smile spread until the tips of her teeth found visibility amongst her sad thoughts. It felt good again to make someone smile. I ate the toast, my appetite wasn't back, but it didn't matter much, I still had to eat. I pulled black clothing out of the closet and went to join everyone just outside of the fireplace.
The funeral home was a drab place; the walls were bright red, dotted occasionally by pictures of the even drabber staff members. Fred's casket lay on the opposite side of the room, a rich mahogany that stood out against the walls. The casket was open. Fred's face lay elevated on a soft white pillow, but I didn't dare go near. I stayed out of sight in a chair towards the back. Only when the caretaker informed us that they would be closing the casket soon did I make any thoughts about moving towards it.

I watched as mom's hand leaned towards Fred's face, but stopped suddenly when dad lay a hand on her shoulder.

Ginny approached the coffin next; Bill and Charlie stood quietly behind her. I turned to the people trickling in. Some had tears in their eyes, for some it seemed like they had cried before, and some, some barely knew him. I never wanted to see anyone grieving or grieve myself. Loneliness smiled at me from the ugly weavings of the carpet. When I stood the room lost itself for a moment, and I could only see the coffin, looming in front of me.

Ron's hand found mine, and Percy was suddenly behind me, a hand resting on my shoulder. I glanced at Ron briefly before stepping forward; he gave me a meager smile. His face turned quickly back into grief. He looked to be waiting, a long ancient form of waiting. His eyes, which clearly faced the direction of the coffin, focused upon nothing. But his weight moved with mine as we walked.

Percy let go and stepped back a foot or two once we stopped. I thought that I wouldn't want to look, but my eyes stared right at him. A thick layer of dusty makeup had been applied to his face. It caught no light. His eyes were closed and his lips were a thin line. He was empty, completely empty. No beating heart pulsed within him, no breathing lungs, and no soul. He had no soul. This was just a body. This was not Fred. Fred would be smiling, laughing. This, this was hideous. But it was Fred, part of Fred. Fred's body.

"Look what they did to you." I know you're not supposed to touch the dead but I reached in and gently brushed my finger against his cheek. Some of the powder wiped onto my finger. He was cold. "All this gaudy make-up. Make-up is for girls Fred. You know that." I considered wiping it all away, but there were still people who would need to see him this fake to be able to recognize him. "Fred." I wanted to tell him that I didn't know who I was anymore. That I wouldn't know what to do without him, but Percy's grip returned once again to my shoulder. I turned and nearly clung to him for a moment. "What am I going to do without him?" By then the tears had begun to fall and I was crying, crying very, very hard. People were staring at me, whispering, saying things. I wanted to disappear. I buried my face into Percy's chest and he led me out.

"Shhh. It's okay."

But it wasn't okay. It was terrible. It was nervous break down, suicide by hanging, hair pulling terrible. I just shook my head and tried not to sob too loudly.

"Fred. Fred you bastard." But it didn't matter. All the words in the entire world had turned to shit. All the thoughts and all the emotions hurt. Someone handed me a glass of water and I was able to sit, and stare. I stared at the floor long after the coffin was closed. I watched the dust kick up with a child's restless feet as the eulogies were given. I looked up when I had to leave. I watched his coffin disappear and reappear in the graveyard. I watched them hoist his body down. They were burying him in such a stupid place, at the bottom of a hill, with old graves. I walked back towards the top of the hill with Percy, he held tightly to my arm, as the grass swayed and bent with its sorrow.

I turned to watch the gravediggers shoveling dirt onto his ending.

From faraway a wind picked up, blowing my hair forward.

"I want to grow my hair out." Percy turned to look at me, a little surprised. "I always wanted long hair. Fred thought that it wouldn't be very practical." A relieved smirk forced one side of his face upward, brief, but it gave me the strength needed to link his arm with mine. I leaned it towards him a little as we walked back to the poof point.

"I'm sorry." He shook his head.

"It's alright." I could tell he wanted to say more, but we both knew that words could wait. As we passed Ron I held out my hand to him, his hand felt weaker somehow smaller. I smiled at him, and squeezed his hand. He squeezed back.

I realized then, that the hole Fred left in my life, in me, would never go away, but that I had found two new pieces to add to my broken one. That life later on could perhaps, with much work, and pain, with the smallest of chances, be nearly entire again.
--

The end, there isn�t anymore.
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Broken Half