The Weasley Twins One Shot Book

George Weasley: Scars

Prompt: he finds you harming yourself.
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You didn't expect to be caught. It was the last worry on your mind. Your head was so crowded with your inner demons anyway.

You didn't ever want him knowing you did this to yourself. And that you have been doing this to yourself. For weeks now. Because he wouldn't understand.

He's too pure. Too gentle, you thought. He's too happy. He wouldn't understand your act of pure despair.

The tiny blade in your hand did little to soothe the pain in your heart, but you had to try. You had to try anything.

The nightmares were too much. His voice was stuck in your head. You longed for his arms around you again but you wouldn't ever feel his touch ever again.

Your beloved older brother, Cedric, was murdered at the hands of Voldemort himself.

It traumatized you so deeply that you felt completely consumed, utterly engulfed by a dark, endless pit. You were falling and didn't have anyone to help pull you out.

Your boyfriend George tried to understand your loss. He even gave you space when you pushed everyone away. He'd hoped you just needed time alone to grieve.

It's been almost a month and you've been absent for every meal. You barely attend classes and you're mute.

It's like your spirit died when Cedric did. Leaving your body soulless and numb, walking the earth like the hollow frame of who you used to be.

There was a moment of silence that backed the overall shock that George wore on his face when he saw you.

The tears in your eyes traveled down your cheeks just as fast as the blood did down your arms. And legs. And stomach.

What he wasn't expecting was for you to jump away from him when he tried to take the small blade from you.

"No, George!" Your broken voice cracked as it attempted a raise in volume. Your throat ached with the sudden strain. "I can't- I can't get him out of my head! I- I miss him and nothing, nothing helps!"

"I can't have you bleeding, darling," You hated how calm he was being. You hated how gentle his voice was. You scoffed at him when his chocolate brown eyes met yours.

"I have to!" You motioned to the small blade in your hand. "I have to do this! You don't understand! I- I'll never see him again!"

"He's still with you, love," George's voice was still so calm. He stood so sure. So composed. "Now, give me that. It's not good for you and I can't have you hurting yourself."

His hand brushed against your cheek. The first reaction you had was to flinch and inch away, but he firmly yet somehow still gently held your face close to his.

The second his lips met yours is when you let your guard down. You had missed him. You missed him dearly and hated the fact that you felt you needed to push everyone away.

Your judgement was thrown off when your brother passed, as well as the whole of all of your other emotions.

Every part of your mental and emotional well-being was hit with what felt like a train. Leaving you scrambling to piece together what shards of who you used to be were left.

You melted into his arms as George deepened the kiss. A whimper left your lips when you felt the blade pulled from your hand. He slipped it into his pocket.

Your legs gave out in weakness, causing him to firmly lift you up into his arms, holding you to his chest as he sat you on a sink.

"Let's get you cleaned up, yeah?" He asked, running a rag from the counter under the warm faucet water. "This might sting, but we need to clean these, okay? I'm right here."

Soft cries and whimpers left your chapped, cracked lips as George gently tended to each and every scar on your arms. He rinsed the warm rag and did the same with your legs.

Knowing you likely weren't comfortable with his touch in such a sensitive place, he watched as you cleaned off the scars on your stomach and waist.

His soft hand lifted your chin to look into his eyes. Yours were red. And puffy. Worn out from the almost month of endless, relentless crying.

"No more of this, yeah?" He asked you gently. "If you feel you need to do this to yourself, come to me, darling, alright? It hurts me knowing you've been doing this to yourself."

"I love you," A mere squeak replaced the voice you once knew. More tears followed the pitiful sound, encouraging George to lift you off of the sink and hold you back to his chest.

After a while of rubbing your back and whispering sweet words of love and support into the silence, George carried you back to the Gryffindor Common Room and laid you on the couch.

He stayed with you. All night. He cautiously pulled his fingers through your soft brown hair, praying he wouldn't catch a tangle by accident and wake you.

Like a guard dog he watched over you as you slept. You're his precious little love and he needs you to be okay.

Though, while you're not, he's willing to be your fortress as you both work together to build yourself back up.

Maybe not to exactly who you used to be, because you both knew that the old you wouldn't be coming back completely.

All George cared about was getting you to be happy again. That was his main goal. Was to work to put a smile on your face that wasn't a mask.