It was always said that the worst feeling in the world could only be created by the Dementors. When said soul-sucking demons were around, it's been told that the air around you grows cold, and you're filled with nothing but agonizing, depressing, sad thoughts. Stories of the horrid Dementor's Kiss have called it a fate worse than death; to be alive, but only as a soulless shell of a human being.
But George Weasley had witnessed a fate worse than the dreadful Kiss. He'd experienced a feeling worse than the insanity that a Dementor's presence could draw out. It was as if a small portion of his soul had been ripped away from him, crushed into fine powder, and then throw into the wind; he'd tried his best to grab hold of something, but the fragments only slipped through his fingers and he'd found that his movements only agitated the air around him, pushing the particles further away.
He'd been in wrecks before, broken plenty of bones, and he'd even lost part of his body. But nothing – nothing – could equal the absolute hollowness he felt now. No jokes could turn the situation around. No amount of laughter could possibly mend the brokenness he felt inside.
He was incomplete. And that was a fate worse than any other.