The Confession || George Weasley

Scene 35- Changing The Perspective

(A/N: Hey all of you, I will just put a small disclaimer, that for the plot here, I changed a little bit from the original books. I will explain everything in the end as to why I did it, however, just so you know and aren't as confused. Thanks for still reading though!)

*George's Prov*

The store is rather quiet this morning, leaving us enough time to fool around a bit. Just as I was throwing a colour bomb at Fred I hear the door opening and see Fred freezing. Confused I turn around to see Anne standing there.

So many feelings come crashing down at once. Happiness, relief, confusion, worry, guilt and curiosity. Before I can even comprehend which feeling I should follow, Fred clears his throat.

"What happened to you?"

Just now I realized how horrible she looks. Shock is drawn across her face and at the side of her arm is a huge whole ripped into her shirt, the area surrounding it is slightly drenched in red colour. She is shaking and my body takes over and reaches her quickly enough to catch her before she breaks down sobbing.

I kneel on the floor with her, keeping her close to me, brushing my fingers through her hair in order to give her comfort. Fred moves around us and closes the door and putting the curtains down.

"What's wrong?," I ask looking as confused as Fred to what might have happened.

However, Anne is in no condition to even get one sentence out. The girl just grips tightly onto me, in a way she never did before and I feel useless for not being able to help. So all I do is hold her shaking body and let her cry.

Fred points that he will go upstairs.

After some time when her cries have died down a little, I move back a little bit to look at her. Red puffy eyes, redden cheeks and tear stained face.

"Are you now ready to tell me what is going on, or are you just that emotional to see me again?"

Anne wipes her eyes and nose, taking deep breaths through hiccups: "I'm sorry."

That's all she manages to get out before breaking into sobs again. I look around confused.

"Why are you sorry Anne? What happened? Please you need to tell me what's up otherwise I can't help you."

"My- my Dad."

"What is with him?"

"He-, I- found. Dead."

"What? You need to talk clear sentences please. I'm good but I'm not that good to make sense out of this," I run a hand frustrated through my hair.

She again wipes her eyes before swallowing another cry that stuck into her throat.

"My Dad, I- I found him dead."

My eyes widen. I'm speechless. What is the right way to the react on something like this?

"When? Where? How?"

"In the pub in the cellar. He- he just laid there in the dirt and-," her voice cracks again, she swallows hard to continue: " I found out that someone used his identity. I have no idea for how long. He just- he just- he looked so- he-"

I pull her close, rubbing her back, closing my eyes.

"I didn't know what to do, other than run away- you. I mean I knew you were somewhere here and I had to- I hope it-"

"I'm glad you came here. Don't worry about that now. Come on, let's get you cleaned up first, you need to rest."

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