The Great Division

Chapter 7: A visitor

AN: I was really bored one day, so I made collages for each character in the book, and I will be putting them at the top of each chapter based on who the main character is.

TRIGGER WARNING: SELF HARM

George:
Yet another liquor bottle emptied in a single gulp. How long could he go on like this, living only to feel pain? No, this wasn't living, not even close. He had lived before, and it was a good life. Now he was a dead man stuck in a living body.

Most people would be grateful to have survived, but then again, most people were fools, for only idiots believe they still possess what was lost.

They cower behind the wall of their lives, too afraid to admit that the one person who made them whole is gone. George wanted to join them in their bliss, but he knew all too well that Fred would never be coming back.

SH
So alone he sat, drowning his sorrow in alcohol as he watched the blood flow from his wrist. He had no intention of stopping it, sometimes he wanted to cut deeper and let all the blood leave his body. What was the point of living if nothing was worth fighting for? Chesterton once said that the truest soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because what he loves is behind him. But George was not the truest soldier, for a warrior of such valor fights for the right cause, whilst George sought to fight for acrimony.
END SH

Everyone left him alone in the pit that they dug, expecting his lifeless body to heave itself up and scale the impossible. And once they realized that he couldn't do it alone, they isolated him completely. He had sacrificed everything for them, and in return they stabbed his heart.

So now he bled and imagined it not to be his blood, but that of everyone who had abandoned him. They were the ones who had taught him the true meaning of love, or so he thought. All this time, they had never cared. Perhaps what they taught him was false, and he had never truly loved anyone other than Fred.

He knew now that if any of them were to die, no feelings would stir in his chest. He would smirk freely at the funeral, and he would spit into the grave without shame. They didn't care, so why should he?

Sometimes the urge to actually kill someone was far too great, so much so that he swore he could hear death's voice in his ear, telling George of all the delights he could have if he simply indulged him. But death was Fred's captor. Though they all deserved to be 6 feet under, George couldn't bring himself to do it.

Fred wouldn't want him to, and anything Fred wouldn't do, he wouldn't do. Including ignoring patronus messages. Fred would have wanted him to listen, so he did.

Just yesterday, Ron's Terrier appeared in his living room, bearing news of what Neville and Luna had done. According to Ron, a team was to be sent out to capture the two of them, particularly Luna, who had sent Harry flying into the Great Hall doors.

Though most would consider it an honor to work alongside the Golden Trio, George simply disregarded his brother's invitation. He would not partake in hunting the pair down, not when he knew their cause to be the right one.

Of course, Ronald had not taken kindly to this, sending yet another patronus message. "Are you mad?! Why haven't you responded? Harry helped you start the joke shop, the least you can do is help him!"

Anger boiled through him at Ron's lack of moral empathy. The boy was a lost cause, stupid and senseless, George knew that the bastard hadn't even an ounce of understanding in him. It was always Ron this, Ron that, when would it ever get to be someone else's turn for once? And who was he to lecture him about helping Harry? All he had ever done throughout the course of their friendship was leave whenever things got tough and return once again to enjoy the benefits of fame and popularity.